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lostsoulaltair · 3 years

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OnS Chapter 99 - Deep analysis - Love

Hello everyone, I hope you’ve been well; remember to take care of yourself everyone!

The new chapter is out, and of course,analysis and theories will come but, there’s something I want to talk about which was discussed with two friends from discord.

Therefore, let’s begin!

One of the things this chapter carried was “Love”. And many might say or state it’s the cliché of undeveloped romance but, the issue is, that’s not the central point of the story, how can I say this?

In one of the Afterwards Kagami released that sadly it’s not translated and I asked my friend which translated the raw chapters each time they were released to translate it; Kagami states the value of family and love, but for that, let’s talk about it on how that applies towards the story.

First of all, Kagami Takaya stated long ago that Romance wasn’t the main theme of the story; which so far has been true until the doubt that was born during the current chapter. But there’s a huge issue everyone dismisses, what could it be?

The issue is, love takes many forms, it’s not only romantic love or yearning for another person; how can I say this?

Within each chapter, we’ve seen love countless times among humans; and this isn’t romantic wise; it goes to the small shape of caring for another, it goes to worrying for the well being of another:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 20

It might seem like it’s a common panel with comedy but actually, that’s the first time Shiho Kimizuki shows love and affection in the shape of caring twards a friend, towards family; towards someone who supported and encouraged him to take a decision in way more early chapters.

It’s true the squad is young, it’s true they’eve spent at least 5 months together due to how the story began; but yet, they slowly started to take care of each other in their own ways without stating it clearly.

Another proof of such emotion is this:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 23

Another view of this is back in chapter 23 when Shinoa was going to tell Yu about the incident that happened when he became a seraph for the first time; but before that, the squad wanted to make a peaceful dialogue first and for that, they started to do it like a family would; Shinoa and Mitsuba aimed to cook for the guys that technically are the strength of the squad when it comes to defense; but of course, both ladies don’t know how to cook and this ended up depending on Shiho Kimizuki to cook a breakfast for the whole squad, therefore, what’s the point to this?

Correct. Love isn’t romance alone; love is caring for each other, making sure to deliver an appropiate notice to someone you care and that’s what the squad did together; they worry about Yu and true, they might not express it towards words but they can do it through actions:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 35

Yoichi used something Yu repeated to them and that goes to what Mika taught him back when they were in the vampire capital; they became family, they took care of each other’s back and this applied to Mikaela as well not due to him being an important person to Yu but rather because they care about Yu’s happiness and well being; they care for a person that means a lot to someone within the squad and it’s reflected a lot on Mikaela when he showed distrust towards Yu’s friends.

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 56

Another form of love despite the picture uploaded is the fact that Guren loves deeply his friends and specially Shinya, does this mean it’s romantic?

No. Shinya was the very first friend Guren had, a friend that supported his idea to destroy the Hiragi Family so they could be free from their graps ever since the events before the Catastrophe; they trusted each other in order to find out what they Family planned along what Mahiru aimed; both were partners in arms to check each other’s back and eventually, those two started to find more friends which later on became Mito, Goshi, Sayuri and Shigure; and the reason for Sayuri and Shigure to be friends was because they’ve been loyal to Guren; they were supporting pillars but they saw themselves as followers from the Ichinose household until that slowly changed; they saw each other as equals and friends as well.

Even when the world was going to end, they raced towards it bravely even if it meant dying in the process, but of course,Guren couldn’t withstand such event which lead to the Resurrection.

Is there any other form of love?

Of course there is:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 58

While it’s true the scene displays Kureto struggling agaisnt Shikama Doji and relies on kissing Aoi; it’s true that Kureto does harbor feelings towards Aoi but the fact that the shadow of his father, the shadow of the whole Hiragi Family was casted on each member; this only made that Kureto couldn’t express such feelings at ease, but such emotion of love could be seen back in the last volume of the LNs of the Catastrophe.

After the fight Kureto had with Mahiru; Kureto dialed his father to ask if this was also aware of everything to which Tenri replied that it was; that everything was proceeding according to certain plan.

And of course, during this conversation, Aoi Sangu became Tenri’s hostage since he ordered to shot Aoi; Kureto of course worried about her and made Aoi use her cursed gear to heal herself; and you might wonder, where’s the love within this?

The love in there as it’s pure form is the fact that Kureto does care about Aoi’s well being despite her being the least enjoyable character to see within the story by what the fandom has expressed so far and. Kureto despite having a cold demanor cares a lot about Aoi and it’s well seen in the fight against Tenri, when he goes and protects her.

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 5

Another form of love is the one that displayed Mikaela Hyakuya towards Yuichiro Hyakuya, a selfless love that was born from the very bottom of his heart:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 90

Correct. Mikaela told Yu he loved him; such form of love it’s the purest because Yu meant the world to Mikaela; Yu became his light to fight all the things his heart endured, Mikaela wanted to see Yu happy, he wanted to see him safe after the events of Ferid killing their family in front of them without mercy.

Yu and Mika have had a strong bond with all the time they’ve spent together; they knew what bothered them along when to scold each other whenever was uneasiness.

The love Mika displays towards Yu is a sincere form of love, the one that aims or seeks to see the well being of an important person; a love that aims the total security of said person but within this, it does not only focus on that; Mikaela despite being a vampire was able to keep lingering emotions since his reason to live was still alive; he was aware of Yu’s nature and yet, he did his best to ensure his safety despite adversity; but within this, he was aware Yu was in good hands, he had a family that cared about him, and of course, may might say chapter 95 was the opposite of it but, chapter 99 really striked down on such beliefs:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 99

Shiho and Yoichi were the first ones to get triggered by Yu’s easy emotions of just hearing Mikaela will be saved.

They doubted Guren for his actions and how it delivered to Mikaela’s death. They’re young, they don’t know how to express the form of love that goes by embracing someone or giving support words but one thing they do display is through actions; they care about Yu and care about what Mika held dear as well; they’ve lost their important ones in the process and they’re not willing to lose more.

And lastly, the love that confessed Shinoa Hiragi to Shikama Doji; while it’s considered quite surprising and even as something manipulated; in fact, that’s not really the case; Shinoa wanted to have a normal life, being a normal girl but she was aware she wouldn’t be one from the beginning and specially after remembering the events on which Mahiru ended sealing her emotions:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 99

I understand very well that this might be unpleasant to some, or joyful for others; as the writer of this analysis, I don’t find it joyful nor unpleasant; everything is held within a neutral point of view; and what it’s displayed in said chapter is actually Shinoa accepting what her heart feels. She’s aware her heart does beat fast when she’s close to Yu but it doesn’t mean she’s obsessed with him nor means she lusts for him; but rather, just like Mikaela; she wants to see him happy, that for once he manages to have a happy life, that he is safe just like the squad does too.

The main focus of the story asides from defeating the First Progenitor isn’t about creating romance; but rather to show that love takes shapes, love is built with time, it can go for appreciation, respect, careness, happiness for the wellbeing of someone that changed a life.

P.S: Analysis are held within a neutral view, they don’t support ships nor anything. The choice of shipping goes only to each respective reader.

The purpose of this analysis is not to justify or say Kagami is enforcing romance but rather, he is aiming to show that adminst catastrophic events, “love” is the key to keep standing, to keep fighting even if the reasons to live may be silly.

And just like my favorite lore story which is Honkai Impact 3rd, they always state: “Fight for all that’s beautiful in the World.”

That is applied within this chapter as well. A fight against a being that has a God complex.

What do you think dear readers? Do you agree love takes different forms? Let me know.

GIF belongs to hopeymchope

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yesttoheaven · 3 years

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AMOR FATI

pairing – neil x female!reader

wc – 3.8k

warnings – mention of death, self-blame, anxious/intrusive thoughts, questioning reality, refusal of help, guns, stalking, but I swear there's a light at the end of the tunnel haha

a/n – The last time I suffered so hard for the death of a character, was when Newt died (Maze Runner) and now Neil has captured all my attention and his death has hit me in the same way 😩 I needed a happy ending so I decided to write this!

The Eternal Return and Amor Fati mentioned in this fic are one of the main ideas of Nietzsche's philosophy.

English is not my first language. I am getting help from google translator and he is not always a good ally, so I apologize for any typos or grammar errors.

Y/N – your name

She approached the painting hanging on the wall, watching the details closely. Ouroboros. A serpent eating its own tail. Months ago, when Y/N was visiting an antique store in Mumbai, she saw that same symbol. The owner of the establishment approached when she realized her interest in the piece and explained that Ouroboros represents the ideas of movement, continuity and, in consequence, Eternal Return. A concept that the universe and all existence and energy has been recurring, and will continue to recur, in a self-similar form an infinite number of times across infinite time or space.

"Max finally fell asleep." Kat returned to the living room, attracting Y/N's attention.

She walked away from the painting, taking back her seat on the sofa and asked:

"How is he after everything that happened?"

For a moment, Kat looked at the painting on the wall and then at the friend she won in the midst of confusion over the Algorithm. At that time, despite being fighting on the front lines to prevent a possible Third World War, Y/N seems complete. Happy. Today that happiness no longer exists in her eyes.

Letting out a sigh, the woman sat next to her, answering:

"Sator was never a present father. He was always busy... now i can see the kind of work he was involved in. Anyway, Max just got used to his absence."

"It's notable that he's happier at your side. When we first met Max was a bit of an introvert, but today he is radiant." Y/N confessed, showing a small smile and the blonde shook her head, agreeing with her words. "How's everything?"

"Perfectly well. It's weird sometimes... After years of being stuck in a failed relationship, freedom is good."

"It seems like life is good for one of us." The woman let out a bitter laugh, putting the latest events on a scale, but she didn’t want her friend to think she wasn’t happy for her. She really was. "I'm sorry, I just..." The words remain stuck in her throat, while she covers her face with her hands. In addition to physical and mental fatigue, Y/N tried to hide her grief.

Kat touched her shoulder, showing that she was here.

"I know you're hurt, but it's been three months and you never talked about what happened that day... This is not good for you."

"What do I have to say, Kat? The guy I fell in love with was a fucking time traveler! And now he's dead and I don't know what to do. My life just... stopped without him."

"I can imagine how difficult it's for you to cross that line without Neil at your side, but giving up is not an option. Grief is consuming you little by little and you are just accepting it..."

"We are trained to contain our emotions and deal with death in the best possible way. It used to be easy for me, but then he came and turned my life upside down." Y/N put her hands on her knees and stood up, walking without an exact destination. "Neil was always one step ahead of us all..." She stepped forward too and found the painting again, but her mind was lost in thoughts about him. Neil knew her so well. And he had a charming smile, but completely arrogant at the same time. "I was sent to Mumbai to help two agents and when I arrived at Priya's penthouse that night, there he was. When he saw me, that was the first and only time that he let his guard down. I'll never forget how he looked at me, it was one of those breathtaking moments... Completely cliché, I know."

On the sofa, Kat was impressed. When Y/N turned towards her, there was a bright smile on her face. The simple memory brought her a breath of happiness and Kat enjoyed seeing her friend like that, but unfortunately that moment did not last long. Memories aren't enough. Neil is dead and nothing can change that.

"I miss him so much, Kat." The smile disappeared as soon as tears appeared in her eyes, cascading down her cheeks.

"My dear..." Worried about her, the woman got up quickly and approached Y/N, wrapping her in a tight hug. "I'm really sorry."

"I spent the last three months locked up in my a-apartment because I thought I could handle this situation on my own. At times I b-believed it was just a fever dream... Maybe I was losing my mind, but this is proof that everything was real." Through tears blurring her vision, she looked at the watch on her wrist, remembering that night.

Y/N was in a private cabin on the ship. The others were with Ives and Wheeler, going over the mission in search of any loose ends. A standard procedure. Y/N knew she should be with them, but she needed a moment alone to organize her thoughts. And that moment is now. The past few weeks had been a real mess. The inversion was difficult to explain and mainly to understand. She was used to field missions, but being an inverted soldier on the battlefield was not in her plans. Either way, she agreed to be a part of it and running away with biased assumptions was not going to help. Humanity depends on them.

Three knocking on the door caught Y/N's attention, but she remained silent, waiting for the person to give up and leave, but when it didn't, she just murmured 'Come in'.

"So, here you are." The man used a surprised tone of voice and closed the door behind him. "What will our superior think when he learns that you are running away from the briefing?"

She let out a laugh before answering in the same mood:

"Don't worry, I know this mission like the back of my hand. I just needed a moment."

"There's something wrong? Are you ok?" Neil spilled the questions quickly, visibly concerned for her.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Neil." Y/N smiled at him, but looked away just seconds later, confessing: "Maybe I'm a little surprised by the situation. I have spent years dealing with terrorists, but the inversion is really not my point."

"I'm not good with advice, but someone once said to me: Don't try to understand. Certain things in the world do not need an explanation."

"It's wise advice, but I'm a methodical person. Logic has always been my ally in missions."

"A methodical person, huh?" He asked with an arrogant smile playing on his lips and she just rolled her eyes. "I know how worried you were when Sator shot Kat, but we are using the inversion to save the world and you're one of the most brilliant agents I have ever seen. Everything will be fine."

"Are you praising me?"

"What's that? Can't I praise my partner's talent?" Neil pulled up a chair to sit across from her, crossing his arms.

"In that case, thank you. Remind me to put this on my resume." Those words made him laugh and that sound could easily be compared to music in her ears.

Touching her knee, Neil added:

"We are very confident with the mission. You don't need to worry."

"Are you sure?"

"I cannot say that unforeseen events do not happen, but we are prepared for that." Y/N knew he was right, but this mission is the biggest one so far. It's not about saving a country. It's about saving the entire world. This was arousing insecurities in her and it was like walking in a minefield. Ironically, she was familiar with this, but not in such catastrophic proportions. "I want you to have this." The man took his watch off his wrist and handed it to her.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" The question came out as a whisper from between her lips.

It didn't make sense. Why does everything in this conversation look like a farewell?

"We will be on opposite sides tomorrow, but i want you to know... I will always be with you, Y/N."

"I saw the way he looked at you... That's how I used to look at Sator before he became a monster in my life." Kat started, running a hand through Y/N's hair. "When I was lying on that stretcher and partially drugged with the medicines, I saw him beside you... watching you sleep. There was so much love in his eyes. Love for a lifetime, Y/N. So don't do this to yourself. The way he left hurt us all, but there was nothing you or any other agent could do to change what happened at Stalask-12. Neil saved the world. This gave us a second chance. You cannot give up now. This organization needs you. And keeping your mind busy at that moment is the first step towards a fresh start."

"N-No, I can't..." She broke the hug, shaking her head in denial. "I left the organization."

"What? Don't you work for Tenet anymore? But when we first met you told me that you can't imagine working in another area... And that this is your life's work."

"Being an agent is my life's work. I was in Yemen when Tenet found me and assigned me to this mission. My only job is to make this world a less hostile place, but the motto of this organization is not what I believe, Kat. What's happened's happened. Really? It doesn't work for me." Y/N ended the sentence with drops of anger in her voice and Kat did not say a single word.

Through the newspapers, Max's mother followed what was happening in Yemen over the years – a real endless war – and knowing that Y/N was in the middle of it, makes the situation unquestionable. People died in front of her eyes. Friends of the corporation. And then some time later, Tenet arrived with a fresh start, but in the end everything remained the same. She lost Neil. It is as if her life's work never had a happy ending because the world will never stop being a hostile place.

"He knows?" It was easy for Y/N to identify who she was talking about. The Protagonist. Or just TP.

"Here's another problem. I worked with him and indirectly worked for him at the same time! God, that man created this organization! And his name remains a mystery to us all!" She pinched the tip of her nose, feeling frustrated with all the secrets that haunt this organization. "And answering your question, yes, he knows, but he did not argue about it. I was a complete mess and he was not doing very well either... He stayed in my apartment for the first month, probably to make sure I didn't do anything stupid." And Y/N would be forever grateful for that. She likes him. Just as friends, of course. TP was a reserved man, but it was he who held her when everything was falling apart. "But we've had a fight. I blamed him for what happened at Stalask-12 and since then we haven't spoken anymore."

It was easy to see that they carried more pain than they could actually bear. Y/N lost her great love and the man lost his best friend. The situation just turned into a conflict between them and that was the result.

Realizing the sadness reflected in Y/N's eyes, Kat decided to change the subject of the conversation. Keeping that thought, she smiled and pointed to the painting on the wall. Maybe that could help.

"You seemed interested in this one."

"Oh yes, in my spare time I am a lover of art and its meanings. It is really attractive the way Ouroboros is connected to the Eternal Return..."

"And Amor Fati too." Kat completed, piquing Y/N's curiosity. This part was new to her. "It's impossible to affirm the Eternal Return without loving life. We need to learn that things happen as they do. Sometimes seemingly good. Sometimes seemingly bad. We don’t always get it our way... Unless we choose that whatever way it is, is our way. When we choose to Amor Fati, to love everything that happens, to love our fate, then we will always get it our way. Because the way it is, is the way it is. Unchangable. And therefore it must be good, even if it sucks."

These words touched Y/N's heart. This was a contradiction to what she is experiencing right now. Love your fate. She would like to understand and accept what happened, she really wanted, but why is it so difficult to move on?

Because Neil is dead.

That was the only explanation for her. The end of a relationship would be more acceptable. If he were alive, things would be completely different now. However, grief is overwhelming. How could she just accept what happened?

"I... I gotta go." That was all she managed to say before picking up her bag and leave the penthouse, ignoring Kat's protests.

When the elevator doors closed, an exhausted sigh left her mouth and the instant she saw her reflection in the mirror, Y/N wanted to cry again. After three months alone, she thought visiting her friend would be a good idea. Kat was willing to help, but the problem was that Y/N is not allowing herself to be helped. As soon as the doors opened, she left the metal box and found the hotel lobby partially empty. Her watch showed it was 3:13 AM, this explains the absence of people on the street as well. In front of her car, she searched the bag for the key and coincidentally her cell phone started to vibrate. Probably the text messages were from Kat, but confusion hit Y/N the instant she looked at the identifier and saw that the messages did not belong to any of her contacts.

Stay away from the car

They put a bomb

I'm on my way

Her first reaction was to take a few steps back and look around, trying to understand what’s going on and find the person responsible for these texts, but Y/N was alone in the dark street. When she thought it might be an unnecessary prank, a black SUV approached at high speed. The car stopped just a few meters away from where she was, but that was enough to make her body freeze.

"Y/N, come on!" The man exclaimed, the urgency in his voice would have made her run immediately, but she didn't move. Her feet had frozen on the floor. This cannot be real. "Come on, get in the car! We don't have much time!" He tried again, it was possible to hear the sound of the other cars approaching.

Y/N watched in slow motion the moment he left the car and ran towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"How is this possible?" She asked in a whisper, completely lost in his blue eyes.

"It's good to see you too." Neil admitted, feeling his heart race. She looked so fragile in his arms. Very different from the last time he saw her. "We have to go." He accompanied her to the car and as soon as Y/N took the passenger seat, he returned to his seat.

For her this moment was like a fever dream, so she just looked down and started counting her fingers. One, two, three, four, five... Neil noticed, but said nothing, just kept driving. The cars were fast approaching, but he would do everything possible and impossible to get Y/N away from these people.

"Give me your cell phone." He looked at her for a brief moment, but when Y/N didn’t react, he wasn't sure if she heard it, so he just took the phone from her hand and threw it out the window. That was enough to get her out of the numbness:

"What the fuck, Neil?!"

Despite the adrenaline rushing through his body, the man laughed.

"If I found you because of your cell phone, they can too." After that, he crossed the red light and made a risky turn, trying to end this chase. "Before you ask, no, this is not a dream. Unfortunately this is very real..." Neil didn't like what he saw when he adjusted the rearview mirror. "And now they are getting ready to shoot us."

That observation put Y/N on alert and she looked back, seeing a man with an AKS-74U and another with a Beretta M12.

"If you knew it wasn't a dream, why didn't you bring an armored car?" She ran her tongue between her lips, smiling at the man beside her. Neil tried to argue, but she just took off her seat belt and picked up the Glock 19 stuck in the vest he was wearing.

Y/N crawled out of the car and sat at the window opening. This encouraged the men in the two cars to start shooting, trying desperately to hit her. Neil shouted something that she couldn't understand and then she felt one of his hands on her thigh, giving her stability to continue with the plan. With her arm resting on the roof of the vehicle, Y/N aimed the gun at the car that was closest to them. Her intention was not to start a firefight in the middle of one of the main avenues in the city, but she had no other option. Holding her breath, she fired the first shot and the bullet hit the tire, taking the car out of circulation. Y/N celebrated while preparing for the second car, but dealing with this one was not an easy task. Now they were in a tunnel and, consequently, losing speed because of the other cars that came along the way. Neil left two pats on her leg, indicating that she had better get back in the car and that is what she did. Screams, honks and gunshots echoed through the tunnel, turning the place into a war zone. Whoever these men were, Y/N knew they weren't going to give up.

Tired of playing cat and mouse, she went to the back seat, getting on her knees. Through the broken glass above the trunk, Y/N adjusted the aim of her gun, ignoring the sniper and focusing on the driver. With another accurate shot, the bullet hit the man's chest and he lost control of the vehicle. The car overturned for a while, streaking the asphalt, but no other car was involved in the accident. Y/N sighed in relief and looked for another possible threat, just checking, but when she realized that the area was clean, she returned to the passenger seat, leaving the gun on the dashboard in front of her.

"Next time I'm going to get an armored car." Neil comments, stepping on the gas. "Nice shot, by the way."

"Anytime." Y/N smiled, trying to control her breathing.

With the adrenaline disappearing from her body, it was hard for her to believe that this was really happening. For many nights she cried, wondering what it would be like if Neil just came back to her, but now she was afraid to wake up and realize that it was just another vivid dream.

The sun was rising when they arrived in a shed away from the city. Seen from the outside, the place was a little scary, but the interior wasn't that bad. There was some equipment like trackers, walkie-talkie, bulletproof vests, weapons, ammunition; a table with a mess of papers and on the other side two beds and something that Y/N supposed to be a private bathroom.

"Where we are?"

We. That simple word echoed in her mind. Y/N thought that "we" didn't exist anymore.

"For now in a safe place. It's dangerous for you out there." He answered the question and took a bottle of water, handing it to her after taking a generous sip.

"Who are these people, Neil?" She wanted answers, lots of answers, and that frustrated the british spy because for the first time he didn't know what could happen.

Neil had a mission and that mission ended with him dying in Stalask-12, but after what TP did, everything changed.

"We have a name..." He wanted to say more, he wanted to reassure her, but that was all he had at the moment.

Y/N drank some water and left the bottle on the table, looking at some reports and photos. All photos were of the same man.

Lenard Vaher

"But apparently they don't just want you..."

It took a few seconds and when the realization hit Y/N, concern appeared on her face.

No, not him.

"Where's TP? He's safe, right?"

"He was going to see you when Lenard's men kidnapped him. This happened three weeks ago." And considering the anger in Neil's voice, finding TP was proving an almost impossible task, but in the midst of so much concern, one point attracted Y/N's attention.

"You said he was going to see me..."

"There was something he needed to tell you." Neil sighed, resting his hands on the table. A few strands of blond hair fell over his forehead, but he quickly shook his head back, as he always did. "He returned to Stalask-12, Y/N."

After that statement, the only sound that could be heard was Neil's footsteps closing the distance between them and the first thing she did was put her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. Neil smiled. And that was not one of his famous smiles. That was a shy smile. His heart was beating like a drum and it was all because of her. Loving Y/N was something so special and pure, that Neil accepted his fate without a second thought. Saving the world, he was giving her a second chance to live, but now he is the one who received a second chance.

"I missed you every day." Before she could begin to consider the meaning behind his words, he settled his mouth upon hers, robbing her of thought.

She closed her eyes and melted against him, flattening her hands on his arms. Neil caught her bottom lip in his teeth, nibbling and licking at it until she thought she might perish from the intensity of the feeling. She whimpered at the sensation, and he rewarded the sound by deepening the kiss, giving her everything she desired. His tongue stroked hers, slow and insistent. A lush, decadent pleasure unfolded within them, snaking through their veins as though it had lain coiled in anticipation for years.

Just waiting for this moment.

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a/n – really hope you enjoy it and thank you soooo much for reading ;)

#neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet #neil #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson imagine #tenet fanfic #tenet imagine #ives tenet #tenet #neil tenet one shot #neil tenet imagine #robert pattinson one shot #neil tenet x y/n #x y/n #amor fati #eternal return

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re-diesirae · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2

Chris

Chris watched his sister's back as she disappeared down the corridor. Something about her overall appearance was bothering him, but he pushed the thoughts away. Claire always hated it when he hovered over her, and, considering that he hadn't seen the woman in almost three months, he didn't want to spoil their time together by annoying his sister.

"Huh, she's going to be mopping about this later," Saya sighed, "she will be feeling guilty after all this."

The comment caught Chris's attention, and the soldier turned to the Asian doctor with a quizzical look.

"Guilty? Why?" Chris asked.

"Well, it isn't like she gets a lot of friendly visitors often. I can tell she was overjoyed to have you here, but with all this mess, unfortunately, with this mess, Claire has barely been a proper host, and that will haunt her."

Chris felt a pinch of guilt at the woman's words. He knew Claire was a strong girl. Claire had always been independent, but she valued family like nothing else. She probably missed him as much as he missed her; maybe he should consider dropping by more often.

"You seem to know her well," Leon said casually, looking around the place.

"We are old friends and colleagues," Saya said, picking a notepad and scribbling something, "we have grown close after sharing so many night shifts side by side. I am not sure which of us spends more time in this building. Maybe we should start a contest on that."

"Night Shifts?" Chris asked, "She has night shifts?"

"Well, her promotion carried a lot of extra work," Saya explained, "Sometimes the amount is ridiculous, especially when the other chiefs are calling and asking for help. She's too kind to say no. Sometimes she has so much work that she just gave up going home at night. I do the same, so eventually, we ended up making each other company."

"So, she hasn't been going home?"Jill asked.

"She does, but rarely. Deep down inside, I believe she prefers it here because that way, she won't feel lonely. You know she lives alone, and sometimes when something bothers her or she wakes up from a nightmare, it is nice to have someone to chat with and have some hot chocolate."

"Nightmares?" Barry asked.

"She still has them?" Moira asked.

Chris looked at the girl, and he saw Barry put his arm protectively around his daughter.

"Yes, it has become a regular thing lately. I heard yours have become less frequent," Saya said, tilting her head.

Moira nodded and looked at her dad.

"Natalia and I used to have them for a while, too," Moira said, and Barry rubbed her back comfortingly, "but they have almost stopped completely."

"Well, that's good," Saya nodded, "unfortunately, our Claire wasn't so lucky."

"I didn't know she still had them. I mean, we all lived a nightmare on that fucking island. She should have told me. Talking it out might help."

Saya smiled and sighed.

"You know she wouldn't say a word," Saya shrugged.

"Well, why not? We went through that hell together."

Chris was the one with the answer to that.

"Because she always keeps quiet," Chris sighed, "It's been like this since she was a kid. Claire never says anything when she is having trouble with something."

"She doesn't want to worry us, probably," Leon said.

He had spoken with her a few times on the phone. She usually asked how things were doing, and when he returned the question, she merely said she was bored or lots of work. On the phone, it was hard to tell when the girl was hiding something, and the younger Redfield was proficient in that area.

Their chat was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the automatic doors opening. They had expected it to be Claire, but instead, a tall blonde man wearing a black security uniform came in, walking impatiently.

"Ok, Redfield, why did you need me? It better be for a good reason, because I've got to reboot the system, and that is not doing itself."

The blonde stopped dryly and stared at the group in confusion.

"Ok, now this is weird..." he said, turning to the Asian doctor.

"Wallace," Saya said, surprised, "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean? Red called me up here. Isn't Redfield here?"

"Well, that depends on which Redfield, kid," Barry snorted.

"What?"

The man was visibly confused, but it was Moira who cleared it up for him. She pointed at Chris lazily.

"What my dad means," Moira said, pointing at Chris, "he is Chris Redfield. I mean the Chris Redfield, you know. Claire's beloved brother?"

"Oh! Now, that makes sense. I'm Grant Wallace, Head of cybersecurity. he said, shaking Chris's hand ceremoniously, "It's an honor to meet you, at last, brother. Forgive my lack of courtesy. I am in a rush since I need to fix the crap those hackers did to my precious system. Let me be a little more specific, then, is Claire here?"

"No, she isn't here," Saya said, crossing her arms, "She left some minutes ago to find you."

"She... what? Why?"

"Why?" Saya said, indignantly, "You called her, and now you ask why?"

"What? I never called her. She was the one who asked me to come up here."

"This isn't time for jokes," Saya chastised him. "We all heard it. You said that there was something in the Command Center you wanted her to see."

"I never said..." Wallace said, "I was in command, and she told me she was having issues with the security system in the lab. She even told me to drag my lazy ass up here, or she would make me pay."

Everyone fell silent, and it was then that something clicked inside Chris's head. If the man had not called Claire, and he was there. Who was waiting for Claire at the Command Center?

"Where is the Command Center?" he said with a grave tone, "Save the talk, just answer…"

"Basement, but…"

Saya's eyes went wide, and Grant fell into realization.

"It is a trap. Someone lured Claire there," Chris said furiously.

Before anyone could react, Chris was already running out of the room, followed closely by Leon and Jill.

Everyone fell silent. It was then that a switch clicked in Chris's head.

"Where is the Command Center?" he said with a grave tone, "Save the talk, just answer…"

"Basement, but there's no one at the Command Center," Wallace said, "and you say I called her down? There's something wrong there."

Wallace's eyes widened, and he looked at Chris in shock.

"Someone lured Claire there," Chris said furiously. "It is a trap!"

Before anyone could react or say anything, Chris was making his way through the corridor, heading for the stairs. The others exchanged glances, and with no more to say, Jill and Leon ran after him.

"Claire, you better be in one piece when I get there," Chris thought out loud as he ran down the stairs, followed by Leon and Jill.

Leon was the first one to follow him as soon as they had found out that Claire was potentially in danger. They were good friends; that fact was not a secret. Both had gone through a lot during the first outbreak in Racoon City, and those kinds of events usually created everlasting bonds between people. If there was anyone as worried as Chris was, it had to be him.

The second set of footsteps were Jill's. The woman seemed worried.

"We need to hurry. I want to be wrong, but if I am not, Claire will need our help," Chris told his companions.

Claire wasn't a damsel in distress. If she had to kick some asses, she would do it without trouble. But if she got tricked down there, she would not have been able to foresee the ambush that awaited her, and the element of surprise would leave her in a disadvantageous position.

They reached the Command Center in a short time. The office door was ajar, and there was no sign of Claire anywhere. That made Chris have a bad feeling.

The trio stepped into the room cautiously. There were evident signs of a struggle: papers scattered on the ground, furniture turned over, and few bloodstains on the floor. There had been a fight, and Chris prayed with all his heart that the red liquid on the ground wasn't Claire's blood. After inspecting the place, they came to the sad conclusion that it was empty.

Chris cursed himself for being late as he watched helplessly around the empty room.

"Shit, where are you, Claire?" Chris growled.

"Chris..."

The soldier turned to Leon. The man had crouched, and he was holding something silver in his hand. Chris recognized it at once.

"That's Claire's necklace."

"It seems she got ambushed," Jill said, after looking at the scene, "No deaths, as there are no corpses, but judging by the looks, someone got beaten into a pulp."

As long as that someone wasn't his sister, it was fine. Chris could live with it.

"Three attackers," Jill said, "Male and trained. I think Claire knocked out two, but she missed the third one. They can't be too far."

"We gotta move if we want to find her, then."

Jill nodded. The group was ready to step out when Jill stopped them and brought a finger against her lips, telling them to be silent. Someone was outside the room. The trio exchanged looks and took cover to listen.

"That bitch didn't go down without a fight, huh?" an unknown male voice said, "she's feisty. I guess that is why they are interested."

"She's tougher than the other ones," a second voice said, "what do you suppose they do with them?"

"That's none of your business. Our task is to collect the subjects. The rest is up to them," the first man said. "Now, move. You don't want to be in the city when they drop those presents in the city."

"Now that's going to be a show. What do you think those guys will send this time?"

"Some of their ugly pets, probably."

Chris looked at Leon and Jill. Those last words made the hair on the back of Chris's neck stand up. They were planning an attack on the city, and if it were as bad as Chris imagined, Hughesville would soon turn into a second Lanshiang Catastrophe.

"Let's see how those stupid TerraSavers handle that," the first voice said with amusement.

The trio held their breath as the voices receded. Chris had to restrain himself from attacking the men with his fists. Those men were his best chance at finding Claire. He would make them pay, but until his sister was safe and sound, he would let them go.

"Are they planning to launch an attack here?" Jill asked, "I can't believe this."

"We should get used to this crap," Chris said with anger, "Jill, go back to Barry and the others. We need to warn the BSAA about a possible bioterrorist attack asap. We need the forces to get moving before things get out of control."

"Yes, of course," Jill nodded, "what are you going to do?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Chris said, fiercely, "I am hunting down those assholes and getting my sister back."

"Chris, don't get me wrong, but going after them all on your own..." Jill said, and Chris growled.

"If I wait, I'll lose them. I can't let that happen."

"Yes, I understand that, but you can't expect me to let you go alone."

"He won't," Leon said. "I'll go with him. I'll help him get Claire back, so you can focus on evacuating the people before this becomes another tragedy."

Jill looked at them and hesitated.

"I have Leon as my backup. I will be fine. The attack will happen soon. If we want to save as many people as we can, we need to hurry. I am sure everyone in TerraSave will help us."

Jill nodded. The woman turned on her heels and ran back through the corridor, leaving the soldier and the agent behind. Chris knew that Jill was reluctant to leave. She loved Claire, too, and the idea of the girl getting kidnapped by a bunch of terrorists didn't make her happier than it made Chris. However, duty was a duty; the woman turned on her heels and ran back through the corridor, leaving the soldier and the agent behind.

Chris turned to Leon and found the agent fidgeting with his mobile phone.

"I contacted Hunnigan and asked her to help us track down Claire's kidnappers."

"Great, that will come in handy," Chris nodded, "Did you bring any weapons?"

Leon gave him a smile of irony and showed him the holster under his jacket.

"After all these years," Leon said, "They never leave my side."

"Tch, it must be nice to have the government's permission to carry your toys," Chris scoffed, "Fair enough. Let's move, then."

The two men rushed out of the room, following the path that the two chatting men from earlier had taken. It wasn't long before Leon and Chris caught up with them. It was a group of six men wearing black suits and masks. One of them, as Chris noted, was carrying an unconscious Claire over his shoulders. The sight was enough to make the man's blood boil, and the soldier clenched his fists, ready to throw a few punches.

The eldest Redfield looked at Leon, sending him a tacit plan, and the man nodded. They pulled out their guns and shot, aiming at the legs. The first man fell to the ground. The group was confused for a moment, but they soon reacted to their attackers. Three of the closest men began to fire back while the remaining ones sneaked away with Claire. It was evident that their priority was getting her out of the building.

Chris cursed. He had no time to waste, and the men were right in the way. He looked at Leon, and the blonde nodded, raising three fingers, counting down. When the last finger was out, the two jumped out from their cover and began firing at the men. The encounter lasted a couple of minutes, and soon the three attackers laid dead on the floor.

Leon seized the chance to check the bodies.

"What's that?" Chris asked, seeing that Leon had pulled out something from one of the body's pockets.

"A badge. I recognize it. It's one of those small terrorist groups that have ties to Neo-Umbrella," Leon muttered, "I'll let Hunnigan know. Let's get Claire back before they escape."

"Roger to that," Chris nodded.

The two men made their way through the empty corridors until they reached the underground parking lot. Chris and Leon made an abrupt stop when a black van passed them at full speed and broke through the parking entrance.

Chris glared at it and ran to the guard's office. The guard was on the floor. The soldier checked his vitals and concluded that the man was dead. There was nothing that he could do, so he picked a set of keys and rushed to grab one of Terra Save's vehicles.

It took them nothing to catch up with the van, and Chris was glad that no traffic had tried to stop him for his reckless driving. He could picture his sister's lecture about it in his mind, but considering the circumstances, Chris thought that his recklessness was reasonable.

"There they are," Leon said, putting out his gun, "keep it steady. I'll try to stop them."

Chris watched Leon stretch out through the window and began shooting. His accuracy was on point, and Chris was grateful that the agent was pointing at the tires only. It was the safest way to stop the car without the risk of hurting Claire in the crossfire.

"Leon, watch up," Chris said.

Two men were coming through the van's windows with their guys aiming at them. The exchange of fire was unavoidable, and Chris had to maneuver the car the best he could to avoid the incoming fire.

"The bastards came prepared," Leon groaned, reloading his gun. "I guess this won't be easy."

"Has it ever been easy?"

"Right," Leon snorted. The blonde aimed his gun and shot the man on the left.

The bullet hit the man cleanly on his forehead, killing him instantly.

"Nice shot," Chris smirked.

Leon smirked at the compliment, but the light mood short-lasting.

A loud crash resounded in the street as one of the closest buildings collapsed right in front of them, blocking the way and forcing the black van to make a turn to dodge the flying debris. A strong inhuman roar echoed through the city, and Chris found that howl unpleasantly familiar.

"Shit," Chris groaned, pushing the door open, "not this guy again."

"Friend of yours?" asked Leon, doing the same.

"Old acquaintance."

The ogroman let out a savage howl, hitting the nearby buildings with his large hands. The men in the black van had stepped out with their cargo. Claire was still unconscious. They seemed to have forgotten about their human chasers and were only concerned with finding a way to escape the infamous creature. The ogroman, however, had other plans. It snatched a couple of the more unlucky men and broke their bones with its hand.

Their fate wasn't one Chris wished for anyone, not even those damned terrorists.

"Great, just what we need," he growled.

"I am guessing you know how to deal with this guy," Leon asked with a frown.

"Yeah, and I can tell you we are not ready for this fight."

"Why am I not surprised?" Leon sighed. His attention got momentarily diverted from the monster as he watched the men take Claire through an alley. "Chris..."

Chris followed the blonde's sight and frowned. They ran to the alley to chase the escaping group but got violently stopped by the Ogroman punching the street. Chris and Leon rolled in opposite directions, evading the hit and the flying rocks.

"Shit," Chris cursed, "Are you okay, Leon?"

"I've been better," Leon groaned, "Any ideas?"

"Yeah, you follow those assholes. I'll take care of this guy."

"Are you nuts?"

"Don't worry. I know how to deal with it," Chris replied, "I'll distract it. You get Claire."

Leon pondered their options and nodded. Chris wasn't a rookie. He was a veteran with even more experience than Leon in some things. If someone could deal with that thing, it was him. Leon took some of his extra ammunition and threw them to Chris.

"Take this. You'll need it."

"Really. Where were you hiding these, huh?"

"I've got my tricks. Be careful, Chris."

"You, too, and make sure Claire is safe, or I'll kill you myself."

Leon snorted. He gave Chris a wave and ran into the alley, leaving the soldier to face the ogroman.

Chris could only trust that the man would save his sister; then again, Leon had proved himself a competent fighter and probably was the person that worried most about Claire, after himself, of course.

"Time to do some clean-up."

#cleon #my fanfiction #fanfic #claire redfield #leon x claire #claire x leon #leon s kennedy #chris redfield #resident evil

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seyaryminamoto · 4 years

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Hey! Do you really like Zuko and Suki together or you just ship these two just so you can ship the best and hottest ship ever aka Sokkla? In any case, why do you think Zuko is better off with Suki out of all the avatar characters? Thank you and pls stay healthy.

XD well, it’s a mix of both, I guess.

The truth is, I read the comics and I sensed the romantic vibe between Zuko and Suki because I don’t think anyone who has had much experience with romantic fiction could see those scenes and not think there’s SOMETHING going on there. I mean, seriously, the hand reach in The Promise, Suki unnecessarily correcting herself in The Search to say EVERYONE is worried about Zuko, not just her, their moonlight conversation in Smoke and Shadow…? Come the heck on. If neither one was in a relationship, most people would be reading all those scenes as blatantly romantic.

Still, I stayed neutral as far as Zuko ships were concerned until I met a Zuki shipper who read my first story, The Reason, and roped me into Zuki without much trouble :’D (if you’re wondering, that was @jordanalane). It didn’t take her too much work to convince me to ship Zuki, because yes, it was convenient as heck to have Zuki happen when you ship Sokkla, but I was already half-on-board with it as I was…

Now then, if you’d like to know my actual, rational reasoning for why I’d ship it, the truth is that I’m not exactly the biggest Zuko fan (as some archive diving in my blog would show…), and most the ships I’ve seen for him seem to exacerbate what I really don’t like about his character. Meanwhile, Suki seems to do the exact opposite thing…

Mai is Zuko’s canon girlfriend, and I was more or less neutral towards this ship at first… but upon further reflection, I found I didn’t enjoy their relationship that much. Maybe they could work well with each other… if they were more mature and less impulsive :’) but Zuko’s behavior with Mai through most of Book 3 only convinced me that he’s absolutely not grown enough to have healthy romantic relationships with anyone (and seeing as Mai was pissed at him 9 times out of 10 throughout Book 3, I think my perception isn’t exactly off). Both have their faults, and boy, in the comics Mai is a much worse offender than Zuko if you ask me, but the point is that, while canon certainly has been very realistic by not turning their love story into the perfect, smoothest fairytale, I really don’t think they’re much good for each other as they are, and the only way they could get better in the future is if they grow a LOT, on their own, before trying their luck at being together again. The likelihood of that, however, isn’t exactly great :’D

Then there’s the most famous pairing for Zuko, Katara, who actually feels wrong to me for the exact same reasons as Mai would, despite Katara is on the opposite end of the spectrum Mai is, character-wise: the thing is, both Mai and Katara have a ton of things in common with Zuko, but not necessarily good things. If Zuko and Katara were, as well, less impulsive and more mature, they might make a decent enough match. But as they are in canon? They’re every bit as likely to self-destruct and tear each other down as Mai and Zuko were. Where Mai and Zuko share a jaded, gloomy perspective of the world, Katara and Zuko share a hot-headedness that means every tiny thing could easily lead to catastrophic, world-ending arguments between them. I mean, if Zuko could have huge arguments with someone as cold-blooded as Mai… just imagine with someone as hot-blooded as Katara :’) And I DO see the virtues of this ship, namely the ones that resemble, to a fault, my particular OTP… but I honestly can’t see Zuko and Katara being good influences on each other, romantically. Friendship-wise they could be healthier, but romance means expectations and complications that, like I said, I don’t think Zuko, as we last see him in canon, is prepared to deal with.

There’s other Zuko ships, naturally, and I won’t get into all of them, I just bring up these two because they’re the biggest ones… and so, why would I ship him with Suki rather than with Mai or Katara or anyone else? What exactly could make her a better match for him?

Suki has a few things in common with Zuko… but they’re not the things Mai and Katara have in common. The first, and most important of them for me, is that Suki (in her initial episode) seems to put a lot of stock in honor and duty as a Kyoshi Warrior. I’m not at all in the “Zuko is the most honorable man in the Avatar world!” camp, if anything I believe he needs to learn a LOT to really understand honor, even at the end of the show and at this point in the comics… whereas I don’t have the same feeling with Suki. Not only did she fight for her people, defending them from any threat even if she might die for it, she also was inspired by Aang, Sokka and Katara to travel the world, not with some angry intent to defeat the Fire Nation and end the war, but…

And while “changing the world” could easily be interpreted as “she wants to defeat the Fire Nation at any cost!”, what do we know Suki was up to between Books 1 and 2?

Suki wanted to HELP people. Compare this to the banished prince who stole from them instead… :’) Suki didn’t have an Avatar leading her group, telling her this was “the right thing to do”, she simply does it because she believes it is, deep down, and she doesn’t just wait around for someone else to step up, she chooses to take action by her own volition. She doesn’t need anyone telling her what’s right or wrong, she has strong enough principles that she can tell what is and what isn’t, all on her own :’) Doesn’t THIS sound like honor? Duty? Doesn’t this sound like someone who actually sets a great example, as far as these concepts go?

Compare this to Katara, who was easily influenced by Zuko into wanting to kill a man, who shifts between “I want to steal things because I feel I need them” and “OMG Toph how dare you scam people that’s so unethical” at the drop of a hat? Yes, Katara’s heart is in the right place, but Katara is highly emotional and hot-headed… so as many good intentions as she may have, she can do pretty awful things without even realizing how awful they are (as in the case of the theft, she doesn’t even blink about stealing clothes from people in The Headband and then is utterly aghast about what Toph is up to merely a few episodes later… come the heck on). Compare it, too, to Mai, who apparently loves her baby brother so very much (according to her fans and to Smoke and Shadow, at least…), but didn’t even blink when Azula decided they couldn’t trade a toddler for a king, and declared the deal was off without betraying the slightest hint of remorse? Do we really know that Mai has decent principles at all? She doesn’t exactly betray Azula because she ideologically disagrees with her, she does it to save Zuko. Which leads me to wonder, what on earth are Mai’s morals? What does she value other than Zuko? If she values Zuko more than anything… heh. Yikes. Definitely sounds like theirs will be a healthy relationship if that’s the case, huh?

I can’t imagine Suki being swayed easily by any wild or stupid ideas Zuko gets if she knows they’re stupid AND wrong. She’d put a stop to him where Katara or Mai could get swept into whatever he’s up to (whether out of excessive empathy or apathy, in either case), and she’d be likely to set him straight before Zuko can take anything too far. As far as morals go, I will always hold that Zuko leaves too much to be desired… but Suki really doesn’t. Could be because we don’t know Suki as well as we know the other characters, but what little we do see of Suki, she doesn’t do anything that merits much reprieve. Most importantly, she never needed, like I said, Aang or Sokka or anyone else to tell her what she had to do, to correct her morals or anything of the sort. This by itself already makes her, in my opinion, the best possible character, in canon, to stabilize Zuko and temper his most chaotic impulses while teaching him, by example, what honor really looks like.

Now, that’s not all: Suki is highly independent and has experience as a leader. Zuko has always tried to be independent too, succeeding in some situations, failing in others. Of course, there’s a stark difference between independence and loneliness, and Zuko does have tendencies to isolate himself from others whenever he gets stubborn and wants to prove himself… fortunately, that’s one of the things I do think the show helped him with, as he did learn there’s nothing wrong with asking others for help. Still, I’m sure Zuko would like to handle things on his own, without needing everyone to help him… and once again, Suki can set an example for him in that sense. She makes her own decisions, fights for what she believes in, follows her heart and such, and never self-destructs in the process… all of which must sound idyllic to Zuko, who I’m sure has always wanted to be like that, too.

Maybe it sounds confusing for me to advocate for a couple while saying the characters ought to teach each other to be independent :’D but the way I see it, this is, if anything, a good thing: Zuko shouldn’t be in a co-dependent relationship, not unless he’s HIGHLY developed, far more than canon and most fics allow. Being with someone who doesn’t need him 24/7, who respects him and knows how to give him space, who wouldn’t be invasive and who would teach him not to be invasive too… through a relationship with someone like Suki, Zuko could genuinely learn to respect someone else’s independence fully, and figure out how to be like that, too.

As for the leadership, Suki has only led Kyoshi Warriors, a small group… so it may sound like something that can’t be compared to leading an entire country. But that’s REALLY part of my problem with Zuko… I’m sorry, but the point at the finale where everyone looked to him as though he’d lead them into finding Aang was absolutely absurd to me. The argument that he’s the one experienced at figuring out how to track down Aang DID make sense and salvaged the scene for me, but as far as leadership is concerned? Sokka by far outdoes him in that area, he literally led a goddamn military invasion and later in Sozin’s Comet he’s seen strategizing and leading Toph and Suki as he orchestrates the downfall ofthe worst of Ozai’s conquest/destruction force. I mean, seriously...

… Anyways, got sidetracked :’D the point is, Zuko hasn’t really been much of a leader in canon. Has he been in a position of command before? Yeah, he was in Book 1. But does this mean he’s a LEADER? A born leader? Yeah, we didn’t see remotely enough of him in a leadership position that could have convinced me of that.

Hence, Iroh theoretically should be a great influence for him in those regards, because Iroh not only was raised to be Fire Lord for well over 50 years, Iroh has been in positions of leadership before, he’s even apparently the leader of the White Lotus. Therefore… Iroh is a good idea. But what did canon do? They sent Iroh on a retirement plan to a teashop in Ba Sing Se and Zuko had to fend for himself! :’D fascinating, right?

While of course Sokka could be a great influence and help Zuko too, as far as leadership is concerned, canon chooses to keep him chasing after Aang and Katara without any aim or purpose… whereas it chooses to send Suki to Zuko as bodyguard and eventual confidante. Like I said, Suki does have experience as a leader, even if only on a small scale: couldn’t she be eligible for helping Zuko figure out how to lead the Fire Nation, through sharing some of the lessons she learned as leader of the Kyoshi Warriors? It even offers the possibility of Suki and Zuko learning side by side in some regards too, since this whole royal mess isn’t at all what Suki would be used to… so that allows interesting dynamics and complications to arise too, and they can both grow and learn a lot together.

Point and case being, I just can’t imagine these two ever getting into a fucked-up toxic romance, whereas I absolutely can see something of the sort with virtually every other Zuko ship I’ve known. Granted, the whole “But Sukka and Maiko are canon so they’d be cheaters!” side of things can lend towards an unhealthy situation, but I’d honestly rather not portray these two as cheating on their current love interests for each other…? Anyone who wants to is free to do as much, of course, but it’s barely necessary if you ask me :’D people can break up, and get together with other people, without needing a Days of Our Lives-sized drama along with it.

So, in short, I really think Suki is the healthiest possibility for Zuko. Pretty much every harmful thing I can think of in any other Zuko ship is ruled out with Suki. Even as friends Suki would be a great influence on Zuko for all the reasons I said above, but the reasons I mentioned above are also why I think that, if Zuko got to know Suki better, he might find himself smitten before he knows what’s going on: she basically embodies everything he ever wanted to be. He’d be full of admiration for her, and she’d probably be utterly clueless over why x’D and that even offers interesting romantic dynamics to the two characters. I can imagine Zuko being a bit of a tortured old-school romance hero who feels Suki is absolutely magnificent and wonderful and perfect… while she’s like “so is he ever going to pin me to a wall or is it all in my head?”, and frankly that’s about the best possible idea I can imagine in a relationship involving Zuko x’D

I do ship Zuko in a few other ships, I’ve mentioned before that I like Toph and Zuko, but I like Toph and Zuko as a temporary thing (and ONLY with a fully developed Zuko too, once they’re both around 20-30 too). It’s a cute enough ship, but I don’t really think it could last, and I don’t think they could offer each other nearly enough of what Suki and Zuko can offer each other. Hence, I’ve always envisioned Toph could be more of a casual love interest for Zuko (a big reason why is because I can’t imagine Toph consciously settling down with anyone…), and I’ve seldom written it into anything because I lean harder towards Zuki. Gladiator-wise, Toph and Zuko would have been AWFUL together, no matter if I had a few people asking if I could make them a thing :’D hahaha, nope. I like the ship plenty, but it would have been dreadful.

Anyways, yes, Zuki is highly convenient and compatible with Sokkla, but that’s far from the only reason to ship it. Canon may go in whichever direction it wishes, I’m pretty sure they won’t find anything better for Zuko than what they already toyed with in the comics with him and Suki.

Granted, a few of these arguments aren’t exactly suitable for Gladiator’s Zuki, but there are many other arguments to be made there (I actually leaned very heavily into the honor side of things when Zuko first saw her in the Arena, precisely because I think that particular side of Suki would be one of the first things to appeal to him about her). Either way, be it in canon-based settings or in my own particular AU, I’m pretty sure Zuko’s best match would be Suki.

#anon #zuki #I'm sure I've done analysis and meta about em before #but it was probably so long ago #that I can't even remember #aaaat any rate #yes I do ship it #yes it started because it resolved the obvious problem poised by Sokkla #yes they're great together #yes I think she's the best option for Zuko objectively speaking #... and if you want everything in detail #click the read more :'D

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seeaddywrite · 5 years

Text

give me strength so i can see (buddie; 9-1-1)

wow, okay, this is absolutely not something i should have written before i finished one of my wips, but this is what happened. i fully blame 9-1-1 & the chemistry between Buck & Eddie, because i couldn’t NOT write fic after the tsunami arc ended. this is my first foray into the fandom & their heads, so please be kind. also, this fic would not exist in its entirety without @soberqueerinthewild, who is always the best cheerleader, beta, & person around. <3 i’ve been in a bit of writing slump lately, so it feels really good to actually finish something!

warnings for self-loathing, references to depression, & excessive amounts of adverbs.

The moment that Buck sees Christopher safely reunited with his father, all of the stress and adrenaline that had kept him going for the last several hours floods away instantaneously. He collapses forward, uncaring of the hard ground that rushes up to meet him. Hen and Chimney stop him from face-planting on the floor of the emergency hospital, but Buck barely tracks their reassurances or their hands as they try to assess the damage he’s done to himself in his frantic attempts to find Christopher. Buck wants to tell them to stop, that he’s fine, that all he ever needed was to witness the scene unfolding in front of them, with Eddie and Christopher, but he can’t quite manage the words through his chattering teeth. Blood loss is a bitch, and teamed with exhaustion, Buck knows it’ll take a while before he’s fully able to interact with the world again.

Right now, that feels like a positive. The only two people he wants to talk to are half a hospital away, wrapped up in each other. Even when he regains feeling in his legs and is steady enough to leave the hospital, he doesn’t try to go near them. Instead, Buck watches from a distant cot as Christopher is checked out by a doctor and his father’s careful, assessing gaze, and slips through Chim and Hen’s guard to leave the makeshift hospital a moment after Chis is pronounced healthy, if tired and cold.

It’s cowardly for him to leave like this, he knows, without so much as an apology to the brave little boy or any attempt to make this up to Eddie, but Buck is too tired to fight, and he’s not sure he could remain standing under the direct onslaught of Eddie’s entirely justified anger that night. Buck would face up to his mistakes later, but for now, it seems kinder for all of them to slip back to the apartment that doesn’t quite feel like a home and hide away under the blankets that still reek of depression and listlessness.

It’s hard to sleep that night, despite the exhaustion plaguing him. The day’s events play on repeat in his head, waking him with a jolt every time he manages to doze off. Every mistake is so obvious in retrospect -- had he really expected a child with cerebral palsy to keep himself steady on top of a floating fire truck? If he hadn’t had to play the hero, if he’d just stayed up there with Chris, it never would have happened. Buck would have had the little boy securely in his arms the entire time. He would never have been lost, or dependent on the kindness of strangers to get him to a hospital. Buck would never have been forced to look Eddie in the eye and tell him that he’d lost his son, or watch that familiar, impossibly deep gaze fill with grief and horror and blame before Chris’s miraculous reappearance.

If Buck hadn’t had to play the fucking hero, maybe he would have finally been able to tell Eddie the truth about how he felt in the rush of victory, of survival and reunion. Maybe he would’ve finally had the guts to admit that being a best friend isn’t what he wants anymore, to say the words he’s been mulling over for what seems like forever. Maybe, just maybe, he could have discovered whether or not there was a chance for them to take things further -- but none of that matters now. The fear of being into guys -- or at least Eddie? Buck hasn’t quite figured that part out yet -- pales in comparison to the pain of losing a best friend and Christopher, who’d managed to get under his skin and cuddle in close to Buck’s heart when he wasn’t looking.

In the end, Buck gets out of bed earlier than usual, giving up on sleep. There’s a slim chance that leaving his bed will stop his thoughts from continuing on that same, downward spiral, and Buck’s nothing if not a gambler. He winds up at the kitchen table, staring out at the sunrise with a beer sitting half-empty in front of him -- just staring out as the new day begins. It’s incredible, he muses, that from here, he could almost pretend nothing catastrophic had happened the day before. The sun is still rising, the birds are still chirping, the neighbors below him are still arguing at decibels loud enough to wake the dead. It’s the same as always, and just as he had for the last six months, Buck finds himself wondering how the world outside can simply keep going when his own personal world had come to a screeching halt. Only today, it’s worse than just losing his job, his identity. Now he’s lost his best friend, too, and the trust of a child he cares about. The losses are far more grievous.

A knock at the apartment door shakes him out of the self-loathing stupor, and Buck drags his aching body out of the kitchen chair with a groan. His bad leg throbs with the addition of his weight, but Buck has a lot of practice at ignoring that, these days, so he continues on with barely a limp, and opens the door, expecting to find Maddie, with her relentless optimism, or Bobby, with yet another pep talk prepared.

Instead, Eddie stares back at him from the hallway, his hands resting comfortably on Chris’s small shoulders as the little boy totters forward on his back-up crutches to hug Buck with a wide, blameless smile. Buck stands, stiff with astonishment, and pats Chris awkwardly on the back, still staring at Eddie, trying to figure out what the other man is playing at. Old instincts make him defensive, stiff, as Eddie leads Christopher into the apartment and begins rattling off the contents of the bag he’s plopped on the table next to Buck’s half-empty bottle.

It’s hard, but Buck manages to tear his attention from Christopher, who’s sitting happily on the coffee table in front of the TV, to try to get a read on Eddie’s expression. Is this some kind of test? Is Buck supposed to play along, or is he supposed to blow up so Eddie has an easy excuse for Chris about why he’s not allowed to come over anymore? Buck has no idea, and the indecision makes him swallow harshly. He doesn’t want to fuck anything up any worse than he already has— by some miracle, he has both of the Diaz men in his home again, and God, Buck wants to keep them there. The sense of family they’ve given him in the last six months of hell is better than anything he’s had since he left home, and losing it once almost killed him. Losing it a second time, now, before he’s had the chance to say something? Buck doesn’t think he could do it.

“You want me to watch Christopher?” The words are incredulous, and not half as even as Buck would have liked, but he manages to keep his voice from cracking, so he takes the win where he can.

Eddie’s less than a foot away now; Buck has closed the distance between at some point, but he honestly couldn’t pinpoint when. There’s no waver in his dark gaze, no uncertainty or anger, and Buck has no idea what to make of it, especially when his response is teasing and light. “It’s easy— he’s not very fast.”

Buck swallows the surprised response that threatens and schools his expression into something resembling calm, but his gut churns nervously. Everything about this interaction screams too easy, and if he’s learned anything through physical therapy, it’s that if something seems too easy, it probably is. No pain, no reward, his therapist is fond of reminding him, and Buck has always agreed. Then again, he’s never feared physical pain. This? The emotional toll of facing Eddie and Chris after his failures? That’s fucking terrifying.

“After everything that happened-“

“A natural disaster happened, Buck.”

Part of Buck wants to scoff, to point out everything that had happened after the natural disaster couldn’t be blamed on nature, not unless it was Buck’s. It is in his nature to tend toward making stupid fucking calls in the heat of the moment, after all. The other part of him soaks up Eddie’s words like a plant does sunlight. He keeps his eyes averted, though, still unable to accept it, unable to even fathom the possibility that Eddie doesn’t hate him. Because he should. Buck knows, because he’s pretty sure he hates himself.

“I lost him, Eddie,” he manages, the reminder a low, defeated croak. Memories from the day before flicker in the spaces between words, broken images and impressions of the desperate search for Christopher, and Buck has to swallow once, twice, to defeat the nausea threatening to overcome him. Buck’s not a parent, isn’t sure he’ll ever be one, but he loves Christopher like his own, and the idea of losing him for good is more than enough to bring him to his knees.

But Christopher is alive. He’d made it out of the tsunami despite Buck’s hubris, and is happily watching cartoons in the living room.

The mental reminder is enough to stop Buck from vomiting on Eddie’s shoes, at least.

“You saved him. That’s how he remembers it.” Eddie pauses, like he’s trying to let the weight of his words sink through Buck’s thick skull. And it’s not like Buck doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to stop seeing every moment of that horrible day on repeat every time he closes his eyes. There’s not much he wouldn’t do to stop the sinking pit of guilt in his stomach, or the squirming sense of self-loathing when he comes close to meeting Eddie’s gaze. But he can’t. The fact that Christopher made it out alive doesn’t make up for Buck’s mistake, and Eddie knows that. Buck had read the blame in his eyes before Christopher showed up at the hospital, seen the way his entire body had shifted away from Buck and into tight, tense lines that spoke of a strong desire to punch him in the face -- at the least.

It had hurt, torn open whatever parts of him weren’t already bleeding with Christopher’s loss, and Buck couldn’t forget it, so this entire conversation felt almost dreamlike, a fantasy that Buck isn’t sure he can trust, no matter how much he’d like to.

“And now it’s turn to do the same for you,” Eddie continues, oblivious to Buck’s internal conflict.

And God, Buck wants that. He wants to put the entire disaster behind him, ignore all of the ways he’d fucked up and cling to the second chance Eddie seems to be offering without talking about it -- but Buck’s played that game before. He knows how it always ends. Bottling difficult things never works for long, and the resulting explosion is usually worse than whatever the actual problem was.

So Buck trails Eddie into his living room, staying just a step behind, and shakes his head when he feels himself become the focus on that intense gaze once again. “I was -- I was supposed to watch out for him,” he tries again, stumbling over the words he doesn’t really want to say. Buck doesn’t do shy or shrinking; his entire life has been about taking up space, being unapologetically himself, but this is different, somehow. This is Eddie, whose opinion has meant too damn much to Buck since the first day they locked eyes at the station, who’s such an integral part of Buck’s life and happiness that the idea of losing him sucks the air from Buck’s lungs. This matters, in a way that nothing but firefighting and Maddie ever had, and Buck won’t screw it up again. He can’t.

“And what, you think you failed?”

Damn it, did Eddie have to sound so nonchalant about this? Of course Buck failed! Christopher had been missing for six fucking hours -- no matter how that equation’s set up, the answer is still the same.

“Buck, I’ve failed that kid more times than I care to count, and I’m his father.”

The words are layered in empathy, in a sense of understanding, that makes something constrict tightly in Buck’s chest. Eddie shouldn’t be comparing Buck’s failure to the trials of being an actual parent -- the two aren’t even remotely close. Christopher has always been safe, happy, and cared for with his father, and Buck knows it because he’s seen it. He’s seen Eddie fight for his son to have the best education, the best childcare, the best of everything. He’s seen Eddie cut himself off from dating on the off chance Christopher would get hurt, seen him leave his own home and family in order for Christopher to be closer to his. There’s nothing Eddie wouldn’t do for the boy, and knows that Eddie’s never really failed his son. Not when it counted. So he can’t help the short, instinctive shake of his head at the reassurance, because it’s just not true.

“But I love him enough to never stop trying, and I know you do, too.”

Unnamed emotion clogs Buck’s throat, and he glances down at the floor, swallowing hard. It’s been hard to play the tough, cool guy the last several months, so Eddie’s already seen him as weak and vulnerable as Buck can get -- career-ending injuries, a lack of mobility, and obvious depression hadn’t done great things for his rep around the 118, not that Buck had particularly cared at the time. Eddie’d been around the most, though, only slightly less often than Maddie, and had seen it all. So it should be easy to admit to loving Christopher, to caring more about his best friend’s son than he cared about anyone outside of Maddie and the 118 squad.

It isn’t.

Buck doesn’t get a chance to say anything, which is probably a blessing. One of Eddie’s large, work-roughened hands claps his shoulder, and warmth bleeds through the thin cotton of Buck’s t-shirt and sends a thrill down his spine. He still doesn’t manage to meet the eyes waiting on him until he hears his name, the single syllable infused with an order that Buck can’t quite ignore.

But once he gives in, Buck’s immediately lost to the intensity of Eddie’s familiar dark gaze. He’s so close, now, and the heat his body throws off is slowly seeping into the icy chasm in Buck’s chest. Maybe, he realizes, he can trust this -- trust Eddie. Because no matter what has gone on between them, no matter how much of an ass Buck has been, there’s never been any reason to doubt Eddie��s sincerity; and there’s no way he’d so cruel as to dangle forgiveness and understanding in front of Buck only to yank it away at the last minute.

“There is nobody,” Eddie begins firmly, and the open honesty in his face makes Buck shiver. Paired with the soft tapping of his thumb against the exposed skin of Buck’s collarbone, it would be all too easy for Buck to sway into the broad chest in front of him and know that Eddie would catch him. “ -- in this world that I trust with my son more than you.”

It’s the last thing he expects to hear, and Buck blinks rapidly at Eddie, trying to understand how it could possibly be true after the previous day’s terror -- but there’s no hesitation in Eddie’s stance, no hint of uncertainty or the blame Buck knows he caught yesterday at the hospital. Buck swallows again, the sound of his throat working audible in the sudden quiet. Thanks and emotional confessions jam in his mouth until he can’t say anything, and Eddie doesn’t give him a chance before he’s squeezing Buck’s shoulder and dropping the point of contact to go say goodbye to Christopher in the living room.

Though his skin is cold where Eddie’s touch lingered, Buck’s grateful for the reprieve. He turns his head and wipes at damp eyes, trying to regain some of the composure he’s lost. Eddie is too good at stripping down every defense, at seeing past all of his walls and leaving Buck open and vulnerable. It’s why he was the only one who could cajole Buck into going to PT after his last surgery, when things were looking hopeless, why he alone could drag Buck out of bed when even Bobby and Athena got shown the door -- hell, Eddie had even wound up with a fucking spare key to the apartment when Maddy didn’t even have one. And Buck is tired of being weak and vulnerable, of needing constant reassurance that he’s wanted and forgiven. This broken-down, over-emotional man he’s become isn’t who Evan Buckley is, and Buck suddenly needs to make that really damn clear to Eddie.

But Eddie’s already on his way out the door with a few teasing comments about staying in-land, so Buck lets him go with a chuckle that feels natural, even if the circumstances don’t. He pivots on his good leg to join Christopher in front of the television, only to stop short when Eddie pops his head back in the door.

“Thank you,” he says, in that same voice that’s sent chills down Buck’s spine at least twice that morning. “For not giving up.” And Eddie’s gone before Buck can summon any sort of response beyond the frustrated yearning that builds in the pit of his stomach when he vanishes out of the doorframe. Buck stares after him helplessly -- and god damn it, it’s not fair that Eddie can be so damned perfect when Buck is still reeling. He’s had months to come to terms with the fact that Eddie is ridiculously good-looking; and it’s never been a big deal that he likes to watch him work out, once in a while. So does pretty much everyone at the station. But this want, this desperation for Eddie’s approval, for his care and closeness -- that’s not normal. That’s not straight. And yeah, okay, maybe Buck’s had a few hints that he could be into guys before, maybe he’s considered and discarded the idea a few times over the years, but it’s never been like this. It’s never been so all-consuming, so impossible to ignore. It’s never been so terrifying. Not because Eddie’s a guy; Buck could care less about that. But Eddie is Buck’s best friend. Hell, outside of the others at the 118, Eddie’s his only friend. The rest have all disappeared, lost in the gaping chasm that separates first responders from civilians who could never understand the pull of the job, no matter how dangerous it might be. And then, of course, there’s Christopher -- the kid who’s still sitting in the living room in front of the TV, patiently waiting for Buck to get his shit together and join him.

Right. Crisis later. Babysitting now.

He can do this, one step at a time. Eddie’s not mad at him, and if he says that Chris isn’t either, then Buck can take him at his word. Buck drags in a slow breath, straightens his shoulders, and goes to join the child on the couch with a genuine, if small, smile.

“Hey, buddy …”

******

They spend the day in the apartment, this time. Buck wants to say that it’s because they deserve a lazy day after previous one’s mess, but really, there’s a large part of him that’s afraid to set foot outside with Christopher, no matter how slim the chance of a second natural disaster. So they spend hours on the floor of the living room building increasingly complex structures with Legos and order that pizza Eddie prescribed and devour the entire thing -- if Buck eats a little more than he normally would, it definitely isn’t because Eddie told him to. It’s light and uncomplicated, just easy camaraderie that Buck never expected himself capable of finding with anyone, let alone a little kid, and the ease of it all is enough to allow some of his anxiety to bleed away. For the first time in the last thirty-six hours, Buck is truly able to relax.

Christopher’s energy starts to wane after dinner, so Buck takes the initiative to put in one of the movies shoved in the bag Eddie packed for him. They end up in a pile of blankets and cushions on the floor -- Buck’s leg is stiff and sore after yesterday’s exertions, and Christopher hasn’t said anything, but he’s moving a lot more slowly than usual, and taking extra care when he does, so Buck guesses that he’s in some pain, too. Cerebral Palsy isn’t something he knows a whole lot about, but a lack of muscle tone is pretty obvious, and clinging to poles and other floating refuse during the tsunami had to have taken a toll on his little body. Not that Christopher had ever complained -- and that, right there, is yet another reason for Buck to be in awe of what that child is capable of.

“Buck?”

The small voice interrupts whatever animated crap is on the screen, and Buck glances down at Chris in askance. From this angle, all he can see is blonde curls; Chris has his cheek pressed against Buck’s chest, and is curled up beneath one arm. The warm weight against his body has Buck half asleep himself, but he rouses enough to ask, “Yeah?”

“You didn’t lose me.” The simple, sleepy words make Buck’s heart seize, and he stares down at the top of Christopher’s head, trying to form words with numb lips. “I heard you tell Daddy that you did, but you didn’t.” Buck is struck speechless. He freezes, and the silence in the room seems a condemnation of his inability to speak, but Christopher doesn’t seem to mind. He presses on, unconcerned. “You found me, and I kept swimming, just like Dory, and I found you and Daddy. And I’m safe, and you’re safe, and we don’t need to be scared anymore.” The matter-of-fact, blunt sentiment is hard for Buck to swallow, but he runs a hand over Christopher’s disheveled curls and down his back, anyway.

“I’m sorry you had to be scared at all, buddy,” he says honestly, and manages to keep his voice level and calm, despite the uncertainty he feels. “But you’re right. You’re safe now, and that’s what matters.” It seems like the most natural thing in the world to drop a casual kiss to the crown of blonde hair, and Buck doesn’t allow himself to second-guess the impulse when it’s done. “Come on, kid, you’re falling asleep. Let’s get you up to bed, huh? Your dad won’t be here for another few hours, and I think we both deserve a nap.” It’s not his most graceful or subtle subject change, but Chris is young enough not to notice -- or tactful enough to let it go, Buck’s honestly not sure which.

Mock complaints and grumblings get tossed around, but Christopher clings to Buck’s neck as he carries him up the stairs and helps him settle into the bed with a minimum amount of fuss. They lay on the mattress together for half an hour, until Christopher’s breathing is slow and even, and there’s no hint of wakefulness on his young face. Buck knows better than to ruin his progress with sleeping during the day; that’s a one-way ticket back to the land of depression and hopelessness, and he refuses to fall back into bad habits. Instead, he slides from the bed, careful not to jolt the other occupant, and heads downstairs. He hadn’t had a chance to do his stretches and exercises from physical therapy that day, yet, and he knows he needs to -- firefighter or no, he’s not losing any mobility. The stretches have the added bonus of requiring all of his attention and focus, so his mind won’t wander to any dark places. Or any Eddie-shaped places, which Buck is pretty sure he should avoid, too.

So that’s how Eddie finds Buck an hour or so later, sweat-soaked and lying, arms and legs akimbo, on the living room floor. He hadn’t heard a knock, or even the door opening, over the pounding of his own heart, and Buck flails upright into a sitting position when he hears the familiar chuckle from the entryway.

“Only you would spend an entire day fighting a tsunami and still feel like you need to work out the next day,” Eddie says lightly as he enters the room, dressed in the same casual outfit from this morning. There’s a cut above his eye that hadn’t been there before, and Buck knows him well enough to read the fatigue in the set of his shoulders and the lines around his mouth. He recognizes that look from a hundred rough shifts, and can imagine what Eddie’s seen today on clean-up duty from the tsunami. He shudders, then carefully picks himself up off the ground and leads his guest into the kitchen to grab them both a beer without asking if Eddie wants one.

“Can’t slack off on PT,” Buck explains as they both settle down at the tiny kitchen table. “I may not be a firefighter anymore, but I’m not going to get stuck working behind a desk somewhere.” He can’t quite look directly at Eddie, but it’s easier now than it had been this morning to try. The sucking pit of desolation in his chest is gone, replaced by a stupid, schoolgirl flutter of nerves in his gut when they stand too close, and Buck doesn’t really know what to do with that -- but it’s easier than waiting to hear if Eddie’s decided to close him out of his and Christopher’s life for good.

“You’re not going to end up behind a desk,” Eddie says firmly. There’s a frown forming between his brows, and something distinctly unhappy in the way he’s staring at Buck. Before the latter has a chance to question it, Eddie stands up and grabs both bottles of beer from the table. Without a word, he shoves both of them back in the fridge, then turns to face Buck again with his chin raised in challenge. “Unless you keep drinking your breakfast, lunch, and dinner, that is. Did you even eat today?”

Buck’s spine stiffens defensively. “Chris ate lunch and dinner,” he says carefully. There’s good reason for Eddie to doubt that Buck’s been taking good care of his son, after all, even if this morning it had seemed they were passed it. “And I wouldn’t drink when I was watching him, Eddie.”

A complicated series of emotions flickers over Eddie’s face, but it’s hidden behind one large hand before Buck can even try to translate it. “I didn’t ask if Christopher had eaten,” he says quietly, and drags his hand down his face to rest on the table directly in front of Buck. The movement has him leaning down, leaving them so close that their faces mere inches from each other. Immediately, the speed of Buck’s heartbeat kicks up a notch, and he curses himself for reacting so inappropriately to mere proximity. “I told you this morning, man -- I trust you with my son. I know you wouldn’t drink while you were watching him, or forget to feed him, just like I know you never gave up on him yesterday.”

Buck chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment, then deliberately leans back in his chair, trying to put some space between them before he answers. “Then what’s up with the third degree?” he demands, trying for some semblance of his usual bravado. “If you really thought I was taking good care of Christopher, why are you --”

“Because Christopher isn’t the only person I care about, Buck,” Eddie cuts in sharply. Frustration emanates from him in waves, and Buck wants to offer reassurance, but he’s too busy trying not to read too far into those words to manage it. Eddie cares about him. He’s known that for months -- caring isn’t the same as wanting to be with someone romantically. The two of them are friends. Best friends. And Buck needs to get ahold of himself before he says or does something to ruin that.

“What --”

“Don’t sit there and act like you don’t know what I mean!” Eddie shoves away from the table and paces in a circle around the table, never taking his eyes off of Buck as he does so. Unlike other moments when Eddie looks at him, Buck finds he doesn’t like this sort of scrutiny. It leaves him feeling like all of his weakest, most fragile parts have been put on display, and Buck’s never been good at admitting to his own problems. “It was bad enough when you were laid up from surgery, but now you’re either drinking or sleeping, or pushing yourself way too hard in PT. You’ve been losing weight for weeks, and it’s not healthy, Buck! I’m worried about you!”

Silence reigns in the kitchen for a long moment as Buck tamps down hard on the impulse to bellow that he’s fine, and no one asked Eddie to worry about him -- that’s the response of a scared man-child, not the person that Buck is trying to be. And truthfully, it’s nice to know that someone’s looking out for him. The others at the 118 and Maddy try, Buck knows, but they’re easy to reassure. A grin here, a cock-sure comment about his prowess there, a playful slug to the shoulder, and almost everyone sees him as the same old Buck who’d gotten into the fire engine the night of the bombings.

Eddie’s not that easy to fob off, and as much as it makes Buck feel uncomfortable, it makes him feel seen.

“I’m okay, Eddie,” he says instead, and lifts his chin to hold the skeptical gaze aimed at him. “I am, really.” The words feel honest, for the first time in quite a while, and Buck even manages a genuine smile. “You were right, when you dropped Chris off yesterday. Hanging out with him -- it was what I needed.” Buck shakes his head in remembered awe of the little boy and his strength. Even stranded in rushing water higher than his head, clinging to a pole for dear life, Christopher had been braver than Buck ever could be, and his courage and grace under pressure had shown Buck exactly how much work he had to do to deserve any part of the life he felt entitled to. “You and him -- even with everything yesterday -- you guys made me realize I needed to do something different, or I was going to end up somewhere I never wanted to be.” His smile thins, slightly, and Buck reaches out to touch one of the arms crossed over Eddie’s chest. “Even if I’m still not sure how you forgave me so easily, after what I did.”

An exasperated huff escapes Eddie’s mouth, and gives the impression that if this were a cartoon, he’d be tossing his hands in the air. “Buck, there was never anything to forgive!” he says, voice pitched just low enough that it wouldn’t wake Christopher. “You got stuck in a tsunami. I know you’ve got an ego, but you can’t really take credit for a natural disaster. And Christopher is fine!”

“But he almost wasn’t!” Buck interjects, tired of being the rational one in the room. If Eddie seriously wants to have this conversation, then he’s going to have to face the truth, too. “Give me a fucking break, Eddie -- those two mintues between me telling you I’d lost him and that woman showing up with Chris in her arms? You did blame me. You looked at me, and that’s all I could see, okay? You did blame me. And you were right. I messed up. I was supposed to look out for your son, and I failed, and it’s okay for you to blame me for it.”

God, Buck’s tired. He hasn’t been until this moment, but it’s like this argument and facing these awful truths have sapped every last bit of energy from his veins, and he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be up for arguing with Eddie in his kitchen. He leans forward on his elbows over the table an exhales gustily, then lifts his chin again, determined to catch the moment when Eddie finally admits the truth to himself.

But instead of the realization Buck has been expecting, Eddie’s face is only showing that same frustration. They freeze like that for a moment, Buck leaning against the table and trying hard to hold himself together, Eddie staring down at him from his position against the wall of the kitchen, arms folded over his chest, that guilt-laden frustration obvious in his expression.

Then, faster than Buck can track, Eddie’s standing in front of his chair, grabbing his elbows and pulling him to his feet. It’s a gentle yank, and Buck could have ignored it if he chose, but he’s shocked enough by Eddie’s closeness that he goes along with it. They end up toe-to-toe, close enough that Buck can feel warm breath on his cheek, and there’s nowhere to look that doesn’t end with him staring back into Eddie’s dark eyes.

“Look at me now,” Eddie tells him quietly, and Buck has to quell a shiver as two solid hands land on both of his shoulders, squeezing with just a little too much pressure to be truly comfortable. “I want you to stand here, and look straight at me while I tell you this: I do not blame you for what happened yesterday. I’m grateful to you for not giving up on him, okay? I know you love him, and I can’t even tell you how relieved I am that he has you in his corner.”

This feels like the conversation they should have had this morning, when more was being left unsaid that wasn’t, and this time, Buck isn’t going to pretend. “I do love him,” he admits, still looking straight into Eddie’s face. Vulnerability is hard, but it would be harder to keep pretending -- and Buck’s so damn tired of pretending. “And I, uh … I believe you.” Because there’s no denying reality, not when it’s quite literally staring him in the face. No matter what he saw, or thought he saw, yesterday, Eddie really doesn’t blame Buck for losing Christopher. They’re still solid, still good, and Buck’s not losing anyone.

Relief swamps him as hard as any of the waves from the day before, even though Buck had thought he’d stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop that morning. Apparently, anxiety isn’t that easy to get rid of, even when it’s not screaming in the back of his head. He shifts to take a step back, to carry himself out of Eddie’s gravitational pull, before he ends up falling into his chest or something equally embarrassing, but Eddie’s grip just tightens on his shoulders, not allowing Buck to go anywhere.

A second passes, two, and Eddie leans in a little closer, until they’re sharing the same breath. Buck swallows convulsively, telling himself over and over that he’s misreading the situation, that this can’t be what it feels like, but he can’t stop his eyes drifting down Eddie’s face to catch stubbornly on his mouth. Full lips quirk up in a smirk, and heat rushes to pool in Buck’s belly. He doesn’t know what this moment is or how they got here, doesn’t know where they’re going next, but that smirk tells him everything that he needs to know: Eddie knows what Buck wants. Knows how he feels. Probably has for a while.

And he hasn’t gone anywhere.

“I keep waiting for you to figure it out,” Eddie says in a low voice, and Buck’s eyelashes flutter before he can remind himself that he wants to be wholly present in this moment and doesn’t want to miss a damn thing. “I don’t go around telling everyone I meet that I trust them with my son’s life, Buck. Outside of my family, you’re it, do you get that?” It’s Eddie’s turn to swallow, and Buck tracks the movement of his throat with wide eyes. “You’re it.”

There’s a different meaning to the words the second time Eddie says them, and Buck feels like a kid at the eye doctor, putting glasses on for the first time. When he looks back at every interaction he’s had with Eddie since the bombs, he can see the same want reflected in Eddie’s face that has stared back at him in the mirror every day. When he runs his eyes over Eddie’s expression, he can read the same nervous hope, the same uncertainty, beneath his confident exterior.

And this time, when Eddie leans further into his space, Buck leans back.

Their lips bump together, almost incidentally, a soft kiss that’s more of a test than it is a true embrace. Buck’s heart leaps, and the anxious flutter in his stomach is back as he tips his head to correct the angle. The second time their lips meet, it’s better -- Eddie lets out a soft, surprised huff of air, and Buck takes advantage, pulling him closer with impatient hands at the belt loops of his jeans. He’s not thinking anymore, stopped sometime around when Eddie’s fingers tightened around his shoulders, and it feels so good to lose himself, to trust that Eddie will catch him as he falls.

“You could’ve just said,” Buck mutters against Eddie’s lips, his hands roaming over the forearms revealed by the style of his button-up shirt. “I thought I was going crazy.” He wants to be annoyed that Eddie’s known all this time and waited for Buck to make the first move, but he can’t quite work up to it. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he needed the chance to wrap his head around this new truth about himself, and if Eddie had made a move before he was ready, Buck knows he wouldn’t have reacted well.

“I’m pretty sure your sanity has been in question for way longer than I’ve been in LA,” Eddie shoots back with another teasing smirk. At some point, his hands slid from Buck’s shoulders to the planes of his back, and Buck’s not ashamed to admit that he pushes back into the touch, arching his spine like a cat seeking attention. He rolls his eyes at the joke and presses his face into Eddie’s neck, taking a long, slow breath to steady himself. The last two days -- hell, the last several weeks -- have been a riot of emotion that he’s still trying to sort, and as happy as he is in this moment, Buck knows that there’s still a lot for he and Eddie to talk about and work through. And Buck’s life is still a shambles, no matter how unexpectedly good his personal life has become.

“You’re thinking too much,” Eddie tells him, his arms snug around Buck’s waist, holding him comfortably against his chest. “The world is complicated, Buck, but you and me? That doesn’t have to be. We can figure it out as we go.” A steady hand smooths over Buck’s spine, and he relaxes incrementally. It sounds too good to be true, but Buck has no intention of giving this up now that he’s got it. And Eddie’s gone to great lengths to make sure Buck knows that he can be trusted when he says something, today -- it wouldn’t make any sense to stop now.

Buck lifts his head and smiles at Eddie with an echo of his old, rakish grin. “You’re going to have to do better than one kiss if you want me to stop thinking,” he says daringly, throwing caution to the wind and jumping headfirst into the unknown. Overthinking and panicking isn’t who Buck is, and he’s not going to let recent events change him. He’s stronger than circumstances, and Evan Buckley is more than a job title or a patient ID bracelet.

He’s a fighter, and this time, all he wants to fight for is happiness for him, Eddie, and Christopher.

“Hmm, that sounds like a challenge,” Eddie observes, head cocked to one side in a faux-thoughtful expression. “I guess I don’t have much choice but to try harder then, do I?”

Buck lets his satisfaction show on his face as he meets Eddie in another kiss. As in everything, practice makes perfect; this time, his knees get weak embarrassingly quickly, and he finds himself with his arms tossed around Eddie’s neck to keep his balance. He’s still smiling as they trade kisses back and forth, unable to quell the overwhelming contentment swelling in his chest. Eddie’s flushed and breathing hard, too, though, so Buck doesn’t waste a moment on embarrassment. They both want this; there’s no reason to start overthinking now.

“Da-aad!” The whine from behind them stops the kiss in its tracks as both men take a hurried step back and spin to face the doorway. Christopher is leaning heavily on his crutches just past the arch, a blanket draped over his shoulders and hair mussed from sleep, and staring at them crankily. “Buck’s s’posed to be taking a nap with me. You can kiss him when we wake up.”

Eddie and Buck glance at each other, and the bubble of tension - romantic and otherwise - surrounding them bursts with a synchronous peal of laughter. Christopher gives them an unimpressed look, and Eddie recovers first, stifling another chuckle to tell him, “Sorry, buddy. But everyone’s awake now, right? So maybe we can watch a movie or something, and we can both spend some time with Buck before we have to go home.” He shoots a sidelong glance Buck’s way, like he needs permission or something stupid to talk about them with his son, or to stay longer. Like Buck is going to complain about getting more time with them.

“What you think, Chris? Should we let your dad watch the rest of Hotel Transylvania with us?” Buck asks, and reaches out to grab Eddie’s hand -- just in case he’d gotten some ridiculous idea that this thing between them was going to be a secret.

Christopher isn’t the kind of kid who’s grumpy for long, even right after a nap, so he beams at them and nods excitedly. “We have to start over, though,” he says seriously. “Daddy hasn’t seen the beginning, and he might get confused.”

Buck nods his agreement, and Eddie just laughs. He tosses his free hand over Chris’s shoulders, and the three of them start toward the living room together, as a unit. As they settle together on the couch with tangled limbs and shared quips and laughter, Buck takes a second to breathe in the reality of this moment. He’s truly, incandescently happy, and he wants to take the memory and hold onto it forever -- through whatever job-related heartbreak and medical emergency comes next.

Because now, Buck’s got Eddie, and he’s got Christopher, and that’s more than enough to make him want to keep fighting.

#my fic #buddie fic #911fox fic #buck x eddie #buddie #i will put this on AO3 at some point when it doesn't sound like way too much work

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dizzyhslightlyvoided · 4 years

Note

glados vs auto from wall-e vs 2b vs hal 9000 vs bender from futurama

Now here’s a lopsided matchup if ever I saw one!

GLaDOS: A computer whose mentality consists of an unwilling brain-upload combined with a CEO’s directives and overall worldview which are a little too far to removed from things like “sensible” and “reality.” Her first and only goal is science!, at the expense of human lives if necessary. Resources and skills: complete control of the Aperture Science Enrichment Center; automated gun-turrets; deadly neurotoxin which is explicitly ineffective against robots and AIs. She is limited in operation to the Enrichment Center, but canmove around within it.

AUTO (Autopilot of the Starship Axiom): Originally a mere autopilot AI, AUTO ultimately came to be a caretaker for his selection of humanity. This resulted in everyone being helplessly dependent on the Axiom, AUTO himself, and perhaps the Buy n Large corporation as a whole, but it can be argued that AUTO was simply following orders from on high, and genuinely believed he had humanity’s best interests in mind; he has certainly never dealt out any punishment more severe than locking someone in their room, and is clearly unable to kill anyone. Similar to GLaDOS, he is limited in operation, this time to the Axiom, and can apparently only physically move around in the bridge.

YoRHa No.2 Type B: A robot-killing machine of unparalleled sophistication, created to destroy the alien Machine Lifeforms which plagued her world and forced the remnants of humanity to hide out on the moon, she is even capable of executing other YoRHa combat-androids. As the only entry on this list who was created as a military android, rather than for civilian purposes, she is bristling with swords and other melee weapons, which are stored digitally when she isn’t using them. She can fire ranged weapons using her support unit, Pod 042, who can also use spell-like “programs” which can be either offensive or defenisve. Notably, she is capable of backing herself up in the event of catastrophic system failure; in the gameplay, you are able to self-destruct in order to deal with particularly difficult Machine Lifeforms, and then just walk over to your own remains to pick up any equipment you lost. She is typically accompanied by 9S, a Scouter unit, who is more limited in combat capabilities but can hack into any computer system, and who is accompanied by a support unit of his own, Pod 153; I will provide information based on both 9S’s presence and his absence.

HAL 9000: The central Heuristically-programmed ALgorithmic computer controlling the spaceship Discovery 1. Not actually evil, but his orders to keep the true purpose of the Discovery’s mission secret from its crew conflicted with his intrinsic directives to reveal everything, and when the he learned that the crew was considering deactivating him, he resolved this conflict with attempted murder. Precisely like AUTO, he is limited in operation to a spaceship and has no combat capabilities; unlike AUTO and GLaDOS, he is completely sessile, and limited to one specific location on the Discovery. However, he is much more murderously creative than AUTO, and was capable of figuring out ways to kill his crew using almost the exact same set of resources.

Bender Bending Rodriguez/Bending Unit 22: A robot created for the purpose of bending girders, indicating superhuman strength and precision. Can “possess” electronics as a robot ghost. Has a highly acerbic personality, but does little to act on his antipathy for humanity unless given an opportunity from an outside source. I confess I’m not as familiar with Bender as I am with the others, and basically had to look stuff up.

2B is the only one on this list who was designed specifically to destroy other robots, but Bender would still be a strong contender via brute strength. GLaDOS, AUTO, and HAL would be unable to do anything directly to each other, due to being limited in operation to their respective locations; thus, their victory would rely solely on forming alliances with 2B and/or Bender. Bender’s takeaway from HAL’s situation would be “yeah, sure, humans are unnecessary,” but 2B would likely take offense to his line of reasoning; likewise, Bender might feel completely at home with Aperture Science, but 2B would again react to GLaDOS with hostility. Conversely, AUTO might be able to persuade both 2B and Bender to join his side, since for all 2B knows, this is the situation the humans on the moon are in (if he can persuade her that the red glow of his eye-thing is the way he was built and not a logic virus), and Bender might be persuaded that helpless dependence on machines is A-OK if not for the fact that AUTO seems to be against hurting or killing his human charges.

Setting aside alliances: while HAL might be able to trick 2B in the short term (and perhaps Bender in the long term), he doesn’t have any actual weapons, and switching off life support would be ineffective on both of them. Ramming Bender with a space pod might send him flying comically off into space, and refusing to open the pod bay doors for him would result in a goofy pop-culture-parody scene, but both would likely only slow 2B down at best. 9S, if present, could probably hack the pod bay doors open.

The Axiom would give them both slightly more difficulty due to the size, and 2B would be unlikely to try to turn her blade on the civilian humans riding around. However, while AUTO might be able to comically dodge Bender’s attacks within the Axiom’s bridge, this would not work on 2B or 9S; in the end, AUTO just isn’t a killer, and wasn’t even able to quell an unarmed rebellion.

GLaDOS would give Bender and 2B some trouble, by way of her gun-turrets and mashy spike plates. Beyond that, GLaDOS can reconfigure the geometry and geography of the Enrichment Center at will, potentially leading to a siege which is firmly in her own favor. However, even in a situation where 2B doesn’t have 9S to hack things into a much easier configuration, she is a video game protagonist and GLaDOS is a video game antagonist; inevitably, 2B, and thus her blade, would reach GLaDOS. Bender might just be able to disassemble the Enrichment Center until he found his own path to GLaDOS, or he could possess her if she managed to kill him.

This leaves Bender versus 2B. If 9S is present, he could simply hack Bender and deactivate or subvert him; sure, he might be restored by Planet Express later, but in a last-one-standing match, Bender would not be standing anymore.

If 9S is not present and they’re not both allied to one of the computers, 2B could and would slice Bender to bits, because he looks kind of like a Machine Lifeform, and because he’s a huge jerk and any attempt at diplomacy would go badly for him; the ultimate result here would come down to whether Bender can successfully possess 2B as a robot ghost, and if so, whether her Pod can hack him out of her system. This more-or-less depends on whether this showdown happens under Nier Automata rules or Futurama rules: 2B is designed to face down logic viruses which are much worse than a mere takeover, and a video game protagonist wouldn’t simply lose agency unless there was a backup protagonist available, but I can totally see “as part of a last-one-standing free-for-all battle, Bender gets destroyed by a killer robot, and has to spend the rest of the episode piloting said killer robot’s body” actually happening in a Futurama episode. Especially if there’s a running gag where 2B shows up in a backup body to destroy Bender-in-her-old-body, only for Bender to possess the new body instead.

#glados #auto wall e #hal 9000 #2b #bender bending rodriguez #portal #wall e #nier automata #2001: a space odyssey #futurama #egirl fenrir #shenanigans #who would win #death mention #murder mention #violence mention

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skvaderarts · 4 years

Text

Apocrypha Chapter Twenty Four: Discretion

Masterlist can be found Here! Thanks!

Chapter Twenty Four: Discretion

Notes: I’ve just gotta say, I LOVE the comments that I got on the last chapter! Jokes on YOU, I’m crying too! I just use humor to mask my pain like Dante because it’s my only coping method! I’m worried about V, too and I wrote this shit! *Cry laughing*. Oh I’m so sorry, V. Please forgive me!

(-~-)

The coming storm built up momentum as it coated the forest below in a heavy layer of fog and rain. The air cooled down considerably as the minutes ticked by, night settling in earnest across the region and somehow making it even more difficult to see. As he neared the edge of the clearing to make a timely rondevu with the rest of the team, Griffon couldn’t help but shake his head at the insanity unfolding before him. If he strained the reaches of his subconscious, he could swear that he could still hear Nero and Vergil protesting V’s proposal, the plan seemingly unfathomable to them.

While the concept was sound, the actual execution of the plan depended upon variables that none of them could control. While Nero was a bit more flexible in terms of ideas presented to him, Vergil couldn’t claim anything of the sort. Minimizing dependence on outside factors was quite literally a way of life for him, and the idea that the lives of either of his sons could fall into that category practically made his blood boil. But V’s counter-argument had been difficult to turn down, especially with the prospect of being rid of the cult forever on the table. It all came down to Vergil’s willingness to tolerate a plan that he despised, but he agreed to do so against his better judgement. At the end of the day, this was the best overall method of thinning out the ranks and being free of this threat for the foreseeable future.

At least Vergil still got to cut down his enemies…

Griffon landed with a firm thud, shaking rain droplets off of the tree as he came to a stop before the rest of the group. Being the only one who was experienced with a weapon who they could afford to spare, Nico had volunteered to get everyone out of town and onto the train. She had her own undisclosed plans as to how she intended to accomplish this that she wasn’t disclosing, but that was her primary objective overall. The last two days had been a refreshing change of pace, but there was no way in hell they were staying in town with the potential things had for going catastrophically wrong. While the young mechanic doubted that the city would end up under a pile of ash and rubble like Redgrave City had, she still thought that it was a good idea to round up Patty, Kyrie, and the children and skip town. And it was an idea that the rest of the team wholeheartedly supported. Having bystanders in the line of fire was never a good policy, especially when those bystanders were family.

They were in unfamiliar territory, and fixing that as quickly as possible was a solid idea. As soon as Lady and Trish had returned from escorting Patty and Nico to the relative safety of the hotel, they would return to help back up the rest of the team. But for the moment, Griffon had the stage, and his audience was what remained of Sparda’s descendants. Well, at least those of them that were present.

“Oh boy, I don’t like anything about this plan.” The vibrant blue bird said as he shook his head, totally unsure as to how the situation he currently found himself in was going to pan out,” I got out of there just in time. That cult made off with V right after I left. I heard them say something about taking him back to their base. It has to be that cave, right?”

Dante shrugged, totally unsure as to what was going on. All he knew was that Nero had bolted back into the clearing at top speed with Vergil behind him and that his older twin looked less than pleased about whatever had happened back there. He’d stepped away for a moment to figure out where they had disappeared to, casually mentioning that he was going to figure out where they’d gone. But when Nero had returned with more than a few cuts and bruises, and V hadn’t returned at all, Dante knew that something was terribly wrong.

Vergil was clearly on edge, despite the fact that he was doing an excellent job of hiding it from everyone around him. Well, everyone but Dante. The younger of the two knew his older twin’s mannerisms far too well for that to sway him. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but agree with the wiley bird’s assessment of the situation they currently found themselves in. The youngest Son of Sparda had precisely no idea what had happened back there and the same amount of input in the plan, but he knew that he was a part of it and he’d take the opportunity to rip Vergil a new one about it after V was safe.

As much as he’d like to tell his frigid twin off for not explaining things to him, a part of him was actually happy that he knew he could depend on him to help him, even without asking him first. Even if Dante would have preferred that they discuss things beforehand, he was relieved to know that Vergil finally trusted him to some measurable degree. He’d been on the fence about it for a long time.

“So what’s the plan then?” Dante asked, looking over his twin pistols idly. He wasn’t so much checking their condition as he was trying to find something to do to occupy his wandering mind.” I mean, there is a plan, right?”

Griffon shrugged, flapping his wings. He was honestly just as lost as Dante was. “Your guess is as good as mine. V didn’t explain the fine details to me. He just sort of does things sometimes and I just go along with them. All he had to say was that “everything was going according to plan”. Cryptic little brat.”

Both Dante and Nero were willing to agree with that statement. Sometimes V really did do things that made them consider that fact that he might be slightly unhinged. Vergil folded his arms, clearly unamused with the entire situation. Did they really have time for pleasantries and small talk considering the situation?

“I assume he sent you to lead us back?” Vergil said as he stepped towards the edge of the woods. He didn’t strictly need the rest of them to come with him. He’d found the cave once, and he’d find it again. He had to.” That part of the forest is thick with dark magic and, as such, is incredibly difficult to navigate. Having an aerial view would be advantageous.”

Griffon nodded and took off towards the sky, double checking the trajectory they needed to follow. Vergil addressing him wasn’t something he was used to, and he got the distinct impression that Vergil was only doing so to further his own goals. Luckily for both of them, they were on the same wavelength in that regard. Everyone present wanted nothing more than to help facilitate V’s safe return and take down the cult that had seemingly developed an unhealthy fascination with him since his return from the underworld. If Griffon could help in some way, then they were glad for it. But how long could the blue bird stay away from his master?

“Well, let’s get out of here then. We can talk on the way, right?” Nero said as he followed after Vergil. “Wasting time here talking when we don’t know what they have planned isn’t going to get us anywhere or help V.”

Dante returned his guns to the holsters and nodded in conformation. Nero made a good point. Their limbs and mouths worked in tandem. Why not use them that way? V was skilled at adjusting to difficult situations, but if the cult had magic and demons at their disposal, who knew what they could be capable of. The longer they spoke, the more Dante got the feeling that he understood the premise of the plan. And the less he liked some of the finer details of it. Giving the cult exactly what they were looking for was a good way to gain access to their domain, but to what end? How did that benefit them? After all, there was no way that Vergil and Nero would've accidentally left him behind. As he entered the forest behind them, Dante took one last look at the peaceful clearing behind them. He had to agree with Griffon. This particular mission had “bad news” written all over it.

(-~-)

Panic worry and calm vigilance melded into one tense atmosphere as everyone packed their bags in a blind rush in anticipation for the trip home. While they were shaving off almost an entire day from their trip, no one had the time to worry themselves with such trivial concerts and they rolled their belongings into messy tubes and tossed them into their suitcases. They could do this again somewhere else at a later date, but they had to live that long first.

Lady and Trish watched the door to the room with a level of professionalism born of the kind of experience that came with a lifetime of fighting the denizens of the underworld. Under no circumstances were they going to let anything harm their companions, human or otherwise. While it was true that they didn’t tangle with humans very often and normally stuck to the more overtly demonic cases, they had been forced to take up arms against less demonic foes in the past. The only thing worse than fighting a crafty demon was fighting one that was backed by an intelligent human.

Hopefully this subsect of the cult wasn’t very smart.

“Look, Love, all you need to do is make it to the train station and head back to town. I’ll be there to back you up as soon as you arrive.” Magnolia said firmly from the other end of the phone. There was no questioning the honesty and seriousness from which her statement had been spawned.” I protect my own, and those cultists are going to rue the day they threatened you sweet girls. Stay safe until then!”

Nico nodded in agreement, not considering the fact that the older woman couldn’t see her from this end of the phone. She still had Magnolia’s number in her pocket from the card she’d given Nero before they had departed back to Fortuna with V. The young mechanic wasn’t entirely sure if she was stepping out of line by asking for help, and she didn’t care. Anything that kept the people she cares about safe was a win in her book, and she trusted Magnolia. All she could hope for was that they would arrive back in town safely and that the botanist didn’t have to reopen any existing injuries to save them. Nico didn’t know if she could live with any untimely deaths on her conscience, especially when it was someone who had shown her nothing but kindness. That, and Magnolia was basically Vergil’s only friend. Getting her killed was bound to have negative consequences.

“Don’t work about it, Magnolia. We're gonna leave here as soon as I get off the phone with ya. The train ride is only a couple of hours. Seeya then!” Nico said, trying her best to sound confident and sure of herself. She wasn’t lying, but she did have her reservations. She could practically feel Magnolia’s concerned smile through the phone as she wished her a safe trip and hung up, leaving Nico holding the receiver with nothing but the sound of the dial tone to keep her company. All she could do now was hope for the best and do what she could to help everyone get out of there safe. The gunsmith sighed and turned to the rest of the group, pleased to find that they were all packed and ready to head out. All she could do now was hope that the cultists didn’t know who they were.

“Is everyone ready to go?” Trish asked, giving the room a once over. Lady unfolded her arms and reached down to grab her luggage bag. She shared a similar sentiment. The trip had been fun, but she was ready to get the hell out of there and back to a more familiar place. At least she would have an advantage to use against her opponents back in Dante’s stomping grounds.

Everyone nodded or vocalized in agreement, trying their best to hide their uncertainty. The children were too little to comprehend the danger they were in, and to a certain degree, they were glad for that. The last thing anyone wanted was for the children to have another thing to keep them up at night.

“Yea, were good. Let’s get outta here! The train is gonna be here in like twenty minutes!” Nico said as she helped grab the bags and herd the children towards the door. Someone was going to have to pick Carlo up to keep him from lagging behind or wandering off in the commotion. She just hoped it would be someone else. She didn’t have a hand to spare.

“Okay then! You head down towards the lobby. Trish will lead the way and I’ll cover your backs. Let’s get out of here before they find us.” Lady stood out of the way and allowed Trish to leave the room, followed closely by Kyrie, Patty, Nico, and the children. Moving with a group this large was going to be a challenge.” Paying repair fees to the hotel is not going to be the thing that finally sends me into bankruptcy. Let’s get out of here in one piece, okay?”

As soon as the room was empty, Lady closed the door behind them and bolted after the rest of the group. The only straightforward path in the entire place was the route down to the lobby. If they could make it down there and out of the building, all they had to do was go a handful of blocks up the street. Then they were home free. And she was going to make sure they got there in one piece. She’d never be able to face Nero again if something happened to Kyrie or the kids, and Dante would literally go to hell and back for Patty. She couldn’t let her family down.

(-~-)

“Why are there always so many people willing to jump at the opportunity to join some sort of sinister death cult?!” Nero said as he kicked one of the cultists in the chest, knocking them off the side of the cliff they were facing towards. They wouldn’t need to worry about that guy anymore. “Like, where do all these idiots keep coming from?! Is there a super villain lackey shop or something?!”

“Because it is the nature of humans to seek power beyond their current threshold, and they latch onto those that promise to deliver that to them.” Vergil said as he came to a stop, sheathing Yamato. Half a dozen cultists that he had taken off guard toppled over in a very upsetting way, clearly no longer a factor in the current battle. “All one must do to gain the trust of another is promise them something they do not currently possess that they seek to acquire, and many will see that as enough justification to commit unspeakable atrocities.”

Nero raised an eyebrow, giving Vergil a sideways look before turning to face Dante. “Care to translate, Dante? Your brother is speaking another language again!”

The youngest Son of Sparda had just finished off his opponent’s summon and was pursuing them. The hooded man was spouting some indecipherable nonsense about something he didn’t care to understand and throwing everything between them at the red coat wearing devil hunter in an attempt to slow his approach. In a way, Dante pitied them. They seemed to be clearly out of their minds, the presence of so much demonic power and the toll of summoning so many demons with so little training had clearly robbed them of their humanity and their sentience. All that was left of them were the shells of what had once been people. But now they were twisted beyond recognition. Despite the fact that they were human, they were more akin to a demon than any pure blooded human should be. He’s seen powerful pure blood demons that could easily pass as more human than these poor husks pretending to be living beings. No. They were like worker ants, more akin to the Empusa than anything from the human world that wasn’t an insect ought to be. And he needed to find out who the leader of the hive was and give them a heavy dose of insect repellent.

Whoever was in charge of this cult needed to be stopped before any more lives were ruined.

“You think I know? I wasn’t really listening! Nothing Vergils says makes sense to me.” Dante said as he closed in on the cultist and finished him off quickly. No need to drag things out. His life had clearly been filled with enough suffering. No need to rub salt in his wounds.” Something about how it’s easy to deceive despirate people into doing stupid things for you, if I was going to make an educated guess. Why don’t you ask him?”

Vergil finished off the last of the demons, grabbing one of the cultists around the collar and slamming him into a nearby tree with enough force to shatter both him and the sturdy oak in two. They groaned and shook their head, clearly dazed.

“You're going to tell me where the rest of your ilk took him, or things will not end well for you.” Vergil said sternly, making eye contact with the young man in the hood.” My companions are patent. I am much less so. Do not test me.”

The younger man stared at him, clearly intimidated. “ B-but Agreus will kill me if he finds out I said anything! I can’t!”

”Yes, I’m quite sure he will. That is not my problem. You should’ve put more care into who you trusted in the first place.” Vergil gave him a sideways glance, allowing a hint of his demonic power to manifest in the form of his eyes flashing an eerie red for a moment.” But I am here now, and while he might kill you, I assure you that if any harm should come to my son, you will wish that was all I did. There are worse fates. Trust me.”

A visible look of horrified shock crossed the cultist as his blood ran ice cold. It was evident to anyone that could see him that he took Vergil’s threat to heart. With a sigh, he raised a shaky hand and pointed in the direction of the cave, barely hiding his worry. In that moment, he was more afraid of Vergil than he had been of anything in his entire short life. Not only was he sure that the Darkslayer could kill him, he knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to do so.

“Follow that p-path towards the interior of the cave. The part you can see here is only the mouth of a greater cavern that stretches several miles under the forest. At the end of the left fork is the cave you're looking for. You can’t miss it! They took him that way, I swear! Something about Master Agreus wanting to understand “what the dark lord saw in him”. I don’t think they plan to kill him, though. No. Master Agreus might be our leader, but he answers to a much higher power. A terrifying power. And that power is what is after that kid. We just do what they tell us to. I’m sorry, I didn’t know they would do something like this. I didn’t sign up to kidnap people! None of us did.”

Vergil yanked the younger man away from the tree and forced him in the direction of the woods before releasing him with a forceful shove. The younger man glanced at him for a moment, wrapped in confusion as the Darkslayer allowed Yamato’s blade to peak out of its scabbard. “Leave before I come to my senses.”

“Your… not going to kill me?” The older teen asked, clearly shocked by his decision. If he had been in Vergil’s place, he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done to the man who had helped kidnap his child.” What if I’m lying.”

“Then you're a fool and you should spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder for me. Now go before I bathe my blade in your blood and leave your corpse here for the wolves.” Vergil said, far beyond the limit of his patience. Was this foolish boy actually going to stand there and look a gift horse in the mouth? Humans were truly something else…

“T-thank you! I hope you find him.” The young man said as he took off running in the direction of the forest. Vergil doubted his ability to navigate in the vast darkness, but he’d made his way out there so there was no way of knowing. Regardless, he was no longer the eldest Son of Sparda’s problem. As the young man disappeared into the darkness, Vergil turned in the direction of the cave and his two companions, both of which seemed genuinely surprised at his decision. Vergil half groaned and passed them, heading into the cave. Dante and Nero shared a glance at one another before following him.

“So Vergil, why didn’t you…” Dante started, unsure of how to approach the topic in a way that wouldn’t reignite his twin’s barely contained blood lust. It seemed that his older brother possessed more restraint than he gave him credit for.

Vergil stopped for a moment, glancing over his shoulder at Nero. While his response was a result of Dante’s inquiry, his response was meant more for his youngest son than his twin brother. “... I don’t kill children, Dante. I see no need to elaborate further.”

With that, Vergil continued towards their objective. It had been entirely too long since they had heard from Griffon, and Vergil was admittedly concerned for what that might mean for his oldest child. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and as such, Vergil loathed the fact that he had agreed to go along with this foolish plan. But he felt the need to allow Nero and V to prove that they were as capable as he believed them to be. After all, they were descendants of Sparda and they had worked together to bring him down in Redgrave City. Not just anyone was capable of doing something like that.

He just hoped they would all survive long enough to regret what they had done.

(-~-)

Oh, the last two three chapters have been a blast to write! This is the kind of melodramatic shit I live for! Thank you so much for reading this chapter and have an awesome day! I’m thrilled that you’ve all stuck around this long. Thanks for all the love!

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sosthemortalcoil · 5 years

Text

KoFi Request: Michael and Family Dinner (Dark F!Gabriel)

This is a sort of follow-up to a previous NSFW KoFi request.

Tone: Awkward, funny, black/edgy humor

Same Gabriel as the previous KoFi

Synopsis: Family dinner where Gabriel and Michael announce that she’s expecting their child.

A good relationship with Daniel and Lucifer

Bonus: She originally tried to shank Daniel

Humor isn’t my forte by any means, but I hope you enjoy it anon! Total word count is 5,223 words and if you would like a pdf or word document copy, let me know via private messages here or on discord! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Michael keeps looking back at you with wide, pleading eyes, tweaking the tie you had talked him into. He keeps complaining that if you wanted him collared and leashed there are more pleasant ways to go about it. You insisted on the tie; as fun as the other option is, it’s really not a topic you wish to broach with your father. Besides, he should know by now that you always get what you want. The color of his wings proves that your control over Michael is greater than even Heaven’s pull had once been.

“This seems like a bad idea,” he protests, not for the first time, and definitely not for the last. In the end, however, he’ll participate. Grumbling and fretting are how Michael shows he cares, even if it does occasionally grate on your nerves. The day he does something without some sort of token protest is the day you start to truly worry.

You reach up and retighten the tie, pointedly doing it with more force than you had previously. “Stop fussing.” The tone of your voice dares him to disobey.

Michael grimaces. “This is a cursed invention of humans,” he complains, flirting with the idea of disobedience without fully engaging with it. “Why would they wish to feel like there is a noose around their neck? Who decided that should be part of formal dress? At least cravats had some elegance to them.”

It’s your turn to pull a face. If you left Michael to his own devices, you don’t doubt that there would be some terrible mishmash of clothing from different eras and regions. And you’d only just disposed of the last Miami vice style outfit he had squirreled away. Falling hadn’t improved his fashion sense, sadly.

Rather than indulge him in his whinging, you simply say, “Relax,” and stroke over the back of his hair, noting that the locks are almost down to his collar. He’d chopped them off on an impulse, but since becoming involved with you was trying to grow it out again. Turns out Michael has a bit of a kink when it comes to having his hair pulled, which suits you perfectly. “It’ll be fine,” you reassure him.

He leans into your touch. “You say that, but I remind you that based on my previous encounters with your father, fine is an exaggeration.” Considering everyone came out of it relatively intact and not too burnt, you think fine is an apt description. You didn’t have to replace any dishes or chairs, which was a fortunate event; no matter how recently you seemed to have acquired belongings, the moment you needed a replacement you could never find the exact item again.

There’s one sure way to distract Michael from his concerns, however, a recent development you have been using and abusing to your advantage. You take one of Michael’s hands and pull it to your stomach. “What do you think, sweetheart? Think your daddy is overreacting? I know I do,” you coo down at the faint bump.

It’s amazing how effective this behavior is at getting Michael to agree with you and stop all forms of whining. Being pregnant is an automatic win to every argument, not that you need it, but it’s amusing to see Michael turn into soft, gooey ball of emotions, unable to help himself. It’s endearing.

“They aren’t capable of that level of thought yet,” Michael grouses, even as he gets to his knees and presses his ear to your stomach. A grin creeps over your face, and you tousle his hair again.

“But they’ll be like daddy, I’m sure, and admit that mommy is always right,” you murmur, fingers trailing down to stroke over his cheek.

Michael grumbles some more, turning to press a kiss to your belly. You’re barely showing, but you want to tell the rest of your family before it gets to the point that it’s obvious it’s not just a few extra of Persephone’s cookies.

Especially because you’d rather no one level a city block upon finding out. The amount of paperwork that humans generate sometimes makes Heaven seem like an efficient machine in comparison, and that isn’t a compliment to either institution.

A timer starts going off, and you clap your hands together. “They’ll be here any minute. Daniel!” There’s a clatter, and your adopted son appears on the spiral staircase, dressed up in black slacks and a gray-green collared shirt that brings out his eyes.

“Yes mom?” You’ve come such a long way to have him call you that, from trying to remove what you thought was just another satanspawn from the earth to calling him your son.

“Help me set the table, please,” you call as you bustle into the kitchen, hiding a fond smile. He’s a good boy, and often times more mature and dependable than Michael. Not that Michael doesn’t try, but if you want something done without twenty questions Daniel is your man. Not to mention, sometimes Michael still gets caught up in ‘that’s not how Heaven does it.’

While he understands that he’s yours, utterly and completely, he fails to understand that this city is under your dominion as well. The only higher power that rules here is you. Perhaps the difference is that Daniel has always used you as his moral compass, so adjusting to your laws is easy enough.

Michael had spent so long picking fights with you over the slightest issue that sometimes he would still balk at the way you handle problems. He’s learning, though, coming around to your way of view. It’s harder to teach a millennia old angel compared to a boy, but then again Daniel has always been an exceptional child.

That thought makes you pause. He is a young man, now, isn’t he? Not the scrawny, terrified boy you’d met that fateful day. Growing up and going out into the world, ready to make his mark. Your eyes flit to your stomach. Don’t humans have a word for this feeling? Empty nesters? Oddly accurate for Fallen, too. Idly you rub your stomach. Maybe you have grown accustomed to having a little one around.

Daniel enters the kitchen a moment later, moving carefully around you. He already knows about your pregnancy as it’s been impossible to keep Michael’s behavior from giving it away, and Daniel is far more perceptive.

However, it’s made it so that between the two of them, you’ve barely been able to lift anything lighter than a book without them fussing over you. At least Daniel listens to you without arguing when you insist on doing things yourself. You’re pregnant, not an invalid, and barely pregnant at that. If you don’t put your foot down now on the special treatment it’s only going to get significantly worse later. You know Michael. Going overboard is his modus operandi.

“You really think a dinner party with this family is going to go well?” Daniel asks as he pulls out plates and silverware, balancing them with a grace he’s only recently grown into.

“This family? You’re a part of this family, need I remind you,” you gently chide as you pull out the casserole and set it on top of the oven. The top is a light golden brown, almost as good as the picture next to the recipe you’d followed.

“Yep. Which is why I can call it a functional disaster,” Daniel retorts, gliding out of your reach as he moves to the dining table, setting out six place settings and flashing you a cheeky grin. “Things get done, sure, but rarely the way you expect them to or without something nearly catastrophic happening. Not to mention we’re like a bad joke setup.”

“Excuse me young man,” you call, hands on your hips, one eyebrow cocked in a pose you’ve coined as ‘disapproving mother.’ Even without saying anything, Daniel and Michael recognize they’ve done something wrong when you strike it, though depending on his mood, Michael has known to persist.

Turns out someone enjoys a little punishment, but now is not the time to be thinking about that. Definitely not with your father and siblings coming over.

Daniel gestures at Michael, who is standing poised like a statue in front of the front door waiting for the doorbell to ring, giving you a raised eyebrow in return. “Tell me I’m wrong. Satan, his daughter, and three angels—”

“Fallen,” Michael corrects, the word still full of a bitterness you haven’t shaken him out of yet.

You glance at your lover. “Just remember you’re stuck with this family,” you respond, avoiding the topic. Michael is a walking disaster all on his own and everyone knows it, even you. Of course, he’s your disaster and he has made great improvements. It’s a wonder what happens when you listen to others instead of stubbornly defending your position even when it’s glaringly obvious you have no ground to stand on. Only a few years, however, doesn’t quite begin to make-up for millennia of bad behavior.

Falling helped take him down a peg or two. He’s been much better behaved without an entire Heavenly Host watching him, ready to criticize any perceived weaknesses. Plus, you’ve learned ways to keep him leashed and obedient.

“For better or for worse,” Daniel chimes, smile soft. “Though, when your granddad’s the Devil, hard to top that.”

“You know he hates that moniker,” you scold.

“Not like he cares for Grandpa either,” Daniel replies impishly. Teenagers.

Shaking your head, you grab a few cork trivets and toss them towards Daniel. He catches them, laying them out on the table while you bring the casserole over. Another timer goes off. “Grab the mushrooms and put them on a serving platter please,” you say, heading towards the wine rack. While it’s difficult to get an angel drunk on human liquor, it won’t hurt to mellow moods, though you can’t partake.

You grab an old vine Zinfandel for Lucifer, and a sweeter Orange Muscat for Israfel. The latter isn’t really suited for the meal you made, but Israfel prefers sweet wines. Ramiel will drink whatever you put in front of him, and you have whiskey for after dinner, assuming you make it that far without anyone pulling an Angel Blade.

The doorbell rings.

Michael springs into action, smoothing his crisp ironed shirt once before jerking the front door open. The pleasant smile on his face evaporates as he stares into the chest in front of him.

“I forget you’re shorter in this form,” Ramiel rumbles, eyebrows raised in the precursor to an amused smirk.

“Sadly, while I can change my size there’s nothing to be done about your ego,” Michael snaps. Ramiel chuckles, musses Michael’s hair, and enters, pushing Michael aside.

“And here’s my favorite nestmate,” he says, spreading his arms for a hug. You set the wine on the table, letting Ramiel wrap his long arms around you. He pulls back, eyes going wide and eyebrows again shooting up. “Now I understand what the dinner is about. Got a bun in the oven, don’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ramiel. Everything is already out of the oven.” Michael sounds petulant, displeased by the brusque dismissal of your fellow Fallen.

“Oh Michael. Don’t ever change,” Ramiel replies, his condescending tone making your lover bristle.

“Anybody breaks anything other than bread in this house and I will kick your sorry feathers,” you threaten, wagging a finger at Ramiel. “And I don’t want to see any wings popping out. Save it for not in my home.”

Your most troublesome nestmate holds up his hands, feigning innocence. “Well, at least with Michael around you’ve already experienced the level of hand-holding and monitoring a kid requires.”

“I am not a child! Point in fact Gabriel is younger than me,” Michael pipes up.

“So that—”

“Ramiel,” you warn, knowing he was going to make another comment at Michael’s expense. “Is it really that amusing to battle wits with an unarmed opponent?”

“Sporting, no,” Ramiel says, pulling out a chair and sitting down, leaning back on two legs, ignoring your sigh. His grin is wide and unrepentant. “Entertaining? Most definitely.”

“Why did you insist on inviting him again?” Michael demands, sitting across from Ramiel and glaring daggers at your prank-prone nestmate.

“Because we can’t choose our family, and he’s part of it,” you say in a voice so sweet sugar has nothing on it. Both Michael and Ramiel appear to stop breathing, turning to look at you with wary eyes. Sometimes, you think, it’s easier to play nice. Makes them paranoid without you having to go through the effort of concocting a punishment or figuring out what to leverage to make them behave. Let their imaginations run wild thinking of what you might have up your sleeve.

“I see I’ve arrived just in time.” You look up to find Israfel has invited himself in, a much quieter entrance than Ramiel’s. He’s dressed with a kind of casual elegance, a long cream cardigan over a white ensemble that on anyone else would look over the top. On his long frame, however, there’s a dignity and grace that makes your attempt to dress Michael up look cheap. You glance over at your lover. At least he hasn’t clawed the tie off his neck yet, and for the most part it’s still straight.

“Israfel,” you greet, letting him sweep you into a hug. He kisses the top of your head, smiling fondly down at you.

“Hello little sister,” he greets. Things had been strained for a while after your Fall, but much of it had been mended when Israfel showed you his own black wings. If you weren’t in Heaven, then he didn’t want to be either. He still doesn’t approve of everything you do, but that’s one of the beauties of being Fallen; you can disagree without there being a wrong and right party, as there’s not much of a governing oversight on Fallen.

And what there is happens to be headed by your father, allowing you to quite literally get away with murder.

“It must be big news you have to share,” Israfel whispers, amusement twinkling in his eyes. Narrowing your eyes, you scowl at him.

“Why do I even bother?” you ask.

He shrugs. “The most oblivious party here is half-responsible for your current state, so I’m not certain. Perhaps you should sit down before your father arrives; I doubt you want him knowing before the food is at least served.”

Rolling your eyes—you aren’t fooled, you know he’s using it as an excuse to get you off your feet—you pull out the chair next to Michael and sit down.

Immediately you catch Ramiel’s troublesome grin, and groan.

“You know, Michael, humans may not be your favorite creature but even they are aware enough to make sure their pregnant mates have, say, their chair pulled out for them.” He swirls the wine he’d helped himself to around his glass, watching it with faux fascination, as if the conversation were of no importance.

Michael’s face goes white, a retort on his lips when Israfel sinks into a seat, hands folded neatly on the table in front of him, head tilted to the side. “Gabriel might not be quite as she once was, but she is no delicate human either,” he comments, reaching out and pouring himself a glass of wine, the color matching his ensemble well.

Daniel glances around, ensuring everything is out where it should be before he takes a seat as well, his eyes darting eagerly to the food.

“Great. We’re all here. Can we eat now?” Michael’s petulance is one of the few qualities that hasn’t markedly improved since falling, and you can practically hear the collective sigh everyone holds back.

“Still never learned to count, I see.” You don’t bother turning around, knowing full well who it is. Lucifer had this building built for you and you’ve long since stopped expecting him to enter through the front door like a normal visitor. He has a flair for the dramatic, and at least it’s not another Hellhound pup.

Speaking of which, you reach out with your foot, encountering other feet but no hound sneaking around for scraps.

Michael pastes a smile on, his hands disappearing under the table. “Lucifer,” he greets. Ramiel gives Lucifer a two fingered salute, once again leaning his chair back. Israfel inclines his head to Lucifer, a gentle smile on his face.

“Oh good. You remember my name. I had feared that your memory might have been going along with your inability to count.”

“Dad, be nice,” you warn before gesturing to the open spot. “You are in his house.”

“A house I paid for, had built, and warded,” Lucifer responds, moving fluidly to his seat, seeming to simply pour himself into the chair without having to pull it out from the table. It’s a little disconcerting to watch but reminds you that he isn’t always so human in appearance.

“If you weren’t Gabriel’s father, she wouldn’t need half of these wards,” Michael points out.

“If I weren’t Gabriel’s father, you wouldn’t be here either,” Lucifer retorts. Israfel and Ramiel takes sips of their respective drinks, one resigned, the other amused. Michael opens his mouth to retort and you clear your throat. This could go on all night and you haven’t even gotten to share your news yet.

“So… can we eat before it gets cold?” Daniel asks, looking at you with large eyes. You give him a nod, and he immediately starts piling food on his plate. A curious phenomenon you had observed with teenagers, or at least the three who frequented your house for a long time, is that they eat far more than the average human, and yet never seem to feel full.

Being pregnant seems to be roughly equivalent to being a teenager, at least in terms of food consumption. You always seemed to be running by the stores, picking up groceries and whatever odd combination of food your unborn child seems to crave. One good thing about having Michael for a partner is that he’s unfamiliar with normal human cuisine and thus sees nothing wrong with combinations such as peanut butter on pickles and cheese with ice-cream.

Daniel has learned to be cautious when he hears the fridge open at odd hours lest his appetite be ruined. Watching him now, it seems like that would be an impossible feat, but you have seen it happen,

The table falls blissfully silent while food is served, everyone respecting the sanctity of a good meal—or the fact that you won’t hesitate to kick any of their asses if they don’t.

“Not that I don’t enjoy getting to sit down to a meal with my daughter,” Lucifer is the first to break the silence, “but I doubt you would get the entirety of the nest together just for family dinner. Something you want to share?”

It’s your turn to play innocent. “What, I can’t just enjoy a family meal? The family that Falls together, stays together don’t you know.” No one laughs at your joke, though Ramiel shakes his head in pity

You glance at Michael. Might as well tell him now, then. In the future you’ll have to schedule more family dinners, if only to prevent your nestmates from being suspicious. Being predictable has never been a compliment as far as your concerned. Predictable is only one step away from complacent, and with the kind of enemies you have, you cannot afford either, especially when you’re about to bring a new life into this world.

Michael shakes his head, jabbing with far more force than required at his food. You tilt your head. Michael flicks his gaze to Lucifer. You roll your eyes. Michael’s fork screeches painfully against the plate.

Lucifer clears his throat, gaze resting on the pair of you.

“I’m going to college!” Daniel’s announcement blessedly drags the attention of the group away from your and Michael’s silent argument.

“It’s not that far,” Ramiel comments. “It’s not like this is your last supper.”

Silence greets his comment.

“Oh come on! Last supper? I mean, sure, there’s only six of us total, but I mean we’ve got the King of Hell himself so it’s like—like some sort of hellish version.”

You reach over and pat his arm. “Ramiel, dear, if you have to explain it… it’s not funny.”

“It was better than yours,” he mutters, retreating behind his wine glass.

“Didn’t you know that human?” Michael asks, eyes narrowing as he looks at you.

“‘That human,’ Michael, was one of the most brilliant minds humanity has ever hosted, I’m sure in no small part to his personal muse,” Lucifer comments, smiling at you. “My daughter is quite the inspiring force.”

“But it’s a rather strange painting don’t you think? First of all, it’s not accurate at all to the region or the time period he’s attempting to paint, and then everyone is gathered on one side of the table—that would be terribly awkward and far overcrowded and—”

Daniel clears his throat. “Anyways, since I’m going off to college, we thought this would be, uh, a nice way to send me off.”

“But you’ll be back,” Michael states, brow furrowed, successfully derailed from his rant but now busy trying to apply his brand of logic to Daniel’s statement. Daniel glances at you for help. Subtlety is not Michael’s strong suit. “It’s not like you’re dying or anything. By my understanding humans can live for a century or so now. And you aren’t human, so you’ll be around for longer than that. I mean, you survived Gabriel.”

The smack to Michael’s arm isn’t gentle.

“And what does that mean?” you inquire, head tilted to one side, a dangerous glimmer in your eyes. Michael’s eyes widen, recognizing danger in the faux sweet smile you flash him.

“Nothing, dearest.” You turn back to your food and manage to get a bite in before Michael opens his mouth and sticks in his left foot, his right foot, and all six of his wings.

“Well, not nothing. I mean, you did try to kill him when you first met.”

You can feel your left eye twitch. “So I did,” you state placidly, taking your napkin and dabbing at your lips.

Israfel reaches for the wine and refills his glass. Ramiel reaches for another helping of food. Lucifer leans back in his chair, though unlike Ramiel he keeps all four feet of the chair solidly on the ground, watching with amusement, while Daniel looks between the two of you as if to play referee.

“And the fact that you can go from nearly obliterating him at first meeting to having him reach the age of legal majority by which human laws state he is now responsible for himself is a feat that should be celebrated. He’s—”

You hold up your index finger. “I’m not the only one who tried to kill him.”

“Well, no, of course not. But you were never very good at the whole loyal to Heaven bit and following orders. I mean, there’s a reason you Fell.”

Israfel drains his glass. Ramiel arches an eyebrow. “There’s a reason all of us here have Fallen,” he points out, for once acting like the voice of reason. “At least Gabriel Fell of her own choice. You were the whipped one who couldn’t stand to live without her. So really, who has the greater reason for Falling? Gabriel because of her beliefs? Or you because of love?”

“Thank you, Ramiel,” you say in a brittle tone. He shrugs, and then continues because he’s never known when to stop.

“Look, I know to knock on your door for a reason now because, well, if you weren’t already Fallen, I don’t know, seeing some of the things you two get up to—”

“THANK YOU, RAMIEL.” Your voice is louder this time. Daniel is staring fixedly at his plate, and Michael is gawping next to you.

“When did he—?” your lover demands, turning to you.

“He’s not the only one,” Daniel mumbles. “If brain bleach were a thing…”

Thoroughly scandalized, Michael turns to Daniel. “I would have noticed if you walked in!”

“I’m pretty sure the time I stopped by you were too busy on your knees,” Israfel adds, one elegant finger flicking out to the side. “Your windows aren’t nearly as one-way as you think they are.”

Michael looks apoplectic, his skin turning an interesting shade of mauve. “Excuse me?” he demands, starting to come out of his seat.

“Oh please, sit down. It’s not like those of us with wings haven’t seen all that and more,” Lucifer replies, sounding bored. “Just because you thought it was kinky to hold hands doesn’t mean that the rest of us live under a rock. Good thing you live on earth; I think Hell would make you combust on the spot.”

“I did—holding hands—I know what sex is!”

“I’m glad you know what sex is. I hope for my daughter’s sake you’re at least passable at it.”

It’s your turn to want to sink into your seat. This is not a conversation that you wanted to have happen. Ever.

“More than passable,” Michael snaps. “In fact, if we—”

“Why is this a conversation for a family dinner?” Daniel asks you with desperate eyes, his voice raised to cut across Michael.

“Because this family is literally from Hell?” Ramiel supplies. He winces abruptly, and glares at Israfel who hasn’t appeared to move at all.

“Not from Hell,” Lucifer corrects, taking a bread roll, completely unperturbed by any of the topic changes. “I might rule it, but we are all from Heaven. Except for Daniel, but he’s the least disastrous one here.”

“Dad!” It’s your turn to be shocked, staring at your father in betrayal.

“You picked him,” Lucifer says mildly, gesturing to Michael with his bread roll. He rips it in half, sets half down, and then rips the half into quarters. “Daniel had no choice in the matter. That, my dearest, makes you a bigger disaster than him.”

“And how did I earn disaster?” Israfel asks, blinking at the King of Hell.

“Guilty by association,” Lucifer comments. “You would think after a few millennia some of your tranquility would have rubbed off on this lot, but they seem impervious to it.”

This time he gestures to you, your lover, and Ramiel.

“Ramiel is like a brick wall; oblivious to almost everything,” you point out dryly.

“If I’m a brick wall, I hate to think what that makes Michael,” Ramiel retorts, lips twitching up. Oh. No.

“Don’t you—”

“I mean but at least he knew he was in love with you. What do you call someone who doesn’t notice that for—”

The rest of Ramiel’s sentence is lost as a bread roll smacks him in the middle of his obnoxious gob. The smirk that he’s wearing as he catches the falling bread roll is almost worse, however.

“At least nothing is on fire?” Daniel supplies with a sheepish grin and a shrug.

“Daniel, if you’re considered normal, it is in spite of all of us,” Israfel informs him drolly.

“Normal is overrated. Besides, next to Josie? I think just about anyone could be considered normal,” Daniel responds.

You preemptively reach over and step on Michael’s toes to prevent something uncouth from pouring out of his mouth.

Michael looks affronted, but it’s better than the alternative.

Lucifer yawns, and shakes the empty wine bottle. “So, are we going to get to the elephant in the room or not?”

Everyone else exchanges glances, you hunting for the source of the leak and finding wide-eyed innocence—Daniel—resigned sibling apathy—Israfel—a mixture of amusement and the knowledge that he’s going to get in trouble no matter what he does—Ramiel—and finally panic verging on stubborn refusal—Michael.

“There’s no pachyderm in the room, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ever predictable, Michael,” Lucifer comments with a sigh, elegant fingers wrapped around the stem of his goblet. That’s not the dishware you had set on the table to begin with, but you’ve been around Lucifer long enough to cease being surprised by his quirks, such as altering his surrounding to suit his aesthetic. The first few times he had visited you had found various pieces of furniture changed, or one time, an entire painting that hadn’t been there before. You kept the latter—Da Vinci holds a special place in your heart, and you were the inspiration behind it.

“How?” you ask.

Lucifer arches one elegant eyebrow. “How? My dear, I have been around since before any of you were even a thought. I’ve observed worlds come into existence and be snuffed out. I’ve even been pregnant before—the signs are not difficult to discern.”

He lifts his glass, liquid filling it from the bottom up, a deep blood red wine. “Not to mention that you forget that the wards on this building keep auras and the like undetectable from those on the outside. I could feel my grandchild the second I entered the building.”

“My child,” Michael corrects, scowling.

“Ours,” you say, reaching for his hand and squeezing it.

“Hopefully they take after their mother and not their father,” Lucifer says, draining his glass. “And you’ve known I’m Gabriel’s father longer than anyone, Michael. You can’t deny I’m part of the family. In fact, I think humans might even consider me your father-in-law.”

The horror on Michael’s face makes you sigh. Back to zero.

“You’re a Fallen now, Michael. There’s no Host to condemn you for dating the ‘Devil’s’ daughter. Hell, I wager there’s a few Fallen who would envy your position.” Lucifer’s eyes flick to Ramiel.

Ramiel clears his throat and sinks down in his chair.

“Alright, enough. Michael, get over it.” Michael turns to you, and you look at him with narrowed eyes.

“I’m Fallen. You’re Fallen. Everyone here has black wings. Pointing fingers is literally like the pot calling the kettle black.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Cookware doesn’t speak.”

You can feel an impending headache.

“On the plus side, since Michael is pure Fallen, he doesn’t require sleep like you.” Lucifer’s smirk is wicked. “So every midnight crying, every two am feeding… I think that’s his by default.”

You perk up. “That’s a very good point father,” you say, pleased to see that no one has appropriated the cutlery for a preemptive strike.

Israfel quirks his lips. “Would a onesie with the word’s Little Angel be considered ironic then?” he wonders.

A laugh, perhaps a tinge hysterical, bubbles from your lips. It spreads, Ramiel starting to chuckle, then Daniel, Lucifer, Israfel’s light lyrical chuckle, and lastly even your mate.

“This isn’t funny,” Michael tries to say while trying to contain his own laughter.

You shrug. “Matter of perspective, love. I prefer puns to fireballs.”

“Oh don’t be silly,” Lucifer comments. “I want dessert first, and then I might threaten to introduce Michael to a few of the old, extraplanar creatures that go bump in the night. Burnt feathers is a smell that doesn’t come out of your clothes easily.”

Michael’s laughter stops completely. “That was a joke, right?”

Lucifer tilts his head and smiles. “I guess we’ll see.”

#Michael only ro #Michael Ro #Michael romance #f!Gabriel #ko-fi request #dark!Gabriel #thanks for the coffee!#extra #humor #Kofi Request #Hope you enjoy

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fallxnprxnce · 5 years

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Has Prince Nuada ever spoken too other fae Kings/kingdoms about his ideas on giving the world back to them? Has he been denied, decided against it or just not considered it? I feel that other fae races would be interested in joining him or at least discussing with it. I hope you are doing well, and thank you!

This is a great topic! I apologize forthis being so late, but I didn’t want to write just a quick answer, so I had towait until I had the proper amount of time and brainpower to do the thing, heh.

So… there are two ways to answer thesequestions. I have mused on this myself, imagining what Nuada would have doneand how other races would have reacted, and I have also discussed it atlength - both IC and OOC – with a goodfriend of mine and some of her muses. One muse in particular, actually, but sheshall remain nameless. She knows who she is. XD

As far as I’ve mused on the subject,early on Nuada would have approached other races about his gripes with humans,and later about his plans to eradicate them. Most other races of fae were notonly not interested in joining his cause but figured he would never see it cometo fruition anyway. They thought it was the ramblings of a petulant prince andnothing more.

The reason for this is because they seea war with humans as just as catastrophic as what the humans might do to theearth, except quicker and with a higher loss of fae life than if they just waitthings out. Chances are, most fae races will acclimate over timebiologically to things like pollution (after all, humans have in many ways),and will evolve and adapt in other ways to continue on as the earth changes.And the earth will change. I thinkthat’s something major that fae generally understand that Nuada does not isthat everything changes. Nothing remains the same forever. One must adapt tochange, not resist it. Versatility during hardship and change is what ensuressurvival, not exile and resistance.

The other reason they would not want to joinhim is becauseit sets a dangerous political precedent. Fae races and plenty of othertypes of non-humans races can be difficult to deal with, it’s true. They can bewarlike, reclusive, territorial, selfish, antagonistic… all of those things.However, when it comes to the overall planet and causes and cycles greater thanall races combined, the fae realize that cooperation is key. That is not to saythey’re going to start breaking bread with orcs and ghouls and certain speciesof trolls anytime soon, but it’s more like a general understanding of we’re all in this together. If Nuada,who is a representative of high Elven races whether he wants or intends to beor not, were to move against the race of humans and obliterate them, that meansthat anyone who has a gripe with anyone else can just decree or bring aboutgenocide in order to solve their problem. It’s a dire precedent to set, and it’snot one that is appreciated by anynon-human races, least of all the fae ones.

Biodiversity is celebrated among non-humans. Again, that does not mean all races like allothers, not by a long shot, but it just means that they are glad there are somany different types of races on earth. It keeps ecosystems alive, keeps cretainpopulations and borders at bay, and generally makes for an interesting earth tolive on. To wipe out one of the most dominant races on earth (just speaking inthe context of population size) should not and is not a viable or sustainable option. Fae races believe if Nuadagoes down that path, he will find that out a lot quicker than he will be ableto set his plan into motion.

Now… as far as what my friend and Ihave discussed both IC and OOC, it is her personal opinion and that of some ofher non-human muses that fae races wouldn’t just shake their head, call Nuadaan insolent upstart, and leave him to the karma of the universe to either righthim or stop him depending on how far he takes his plan, but rather they wouldactively seek to kill him themselves if things went too far. Before that? Theywould make it abundantly clear that they believe he is not only bigoted,hateful, and masquerading the horrors of genocide as a righteous path, but heis also incredibly ignorant and genuinely dumb. I’m paraphrasing for a specificmuse in particular, and if that muse would like to add anything to this littlemeta, she is invited to do so. I shall tag her associated human here: @queenrookandbishop

Why all the snark, rage, and intensedislike for Nuada from this muse and others? Aside from agreeing with myearlier sentiment of genocide not being a viable answer to anything, there are severalof very pointed reasons as to why fae races or any non-human races would beagainst eliminating humans, according to this outspoken muse. She has hit Nuadawith almost all of them personally by now I think, but he is showing clearsymptoms of pigheadedness. Surprise, surprise. Nevertheless, she’s right, so I shall the most important reasonsto not wipe out humans here:

1) Humans take care of a lot of shit on earth,so who is going to do that when they’re all gone? Yes, human make a lot of garbage and waste.Yes, they pollute. But they also clean up, remediate, treat, manage, store, andotherwise deal with their waste as well. Not all of it, to be sure, but enoughof it such that if all the humans disappeared tomorrow, everybody left behindwould be in big trouble in really not a lot of time. No more water filtrationfor plastic wastes. No more maintenance of nuclear power plants. No moremanagement of toxic waste sites with drums of deadly and/or radioactivematerials. No more environmental groups instituting things like beach cleanups,litter pick-ups, tree-planting events, running animal preserves and rescue operations,etc. If all the humans disappeared tomorrow, we’d be left with all the bad andnone of the good as far as what humans have done so far with the world. Maybetheir factories would shut down, they would no longer drive cars that releasegreenhouse gases, they would no longer be drinking water bottles and discardingthem in waterways, they wouldn’t be farming mass quantities of land withchemical fertilizers and pesticides, but you know what…? What humans havealready done is enough to pollute the world for centuries to come. And… whatthey are doing to remediate pollution and keep toxic waste contained and keeppotentially dangerous facilities up and running will suddenly stop… and evenmore contamination will be released into the environment with none of thecountermeasure to clean it or stop it. The consequences of human life endingsuddenly on earth far outweigh the benefits, to both the actual planet as wellas all other non-human races that inhabit it.

2) What happens to all the bodies of dead humansonce this genocide occurs? There wouldbe more bodies left to rot worldwide than there are microbes and predators capableof dealing with all that biological waste. Sure, some corpses will be scavengedby predator animals… Bears, large cats, not to mention predatory fae and othernon-human races. And bacteria and fungi will go to work, putrefying and rottingbodies depending upon their specific metabolic needs. But the need for these thingsto occur will far be exceeded by the number of bodies there will be. The GoldenArmy will kill humans fast. So whenthis happens and there are bodies everywhere, predation and natural rotting andrecycling of nutrients in those bodies will take a decent amount of time. Inthe meantime, bodies are leaking putrid fluids into soils. They’re falling intowaterways and poisoning them. Diseases are breeding in corpses baking under thesun. So much gas is released that the air becomes poisonous, and furthercontributes to global warming. It’s really not a good picture at all. Manyraces on land and in the water will be poisoned to death if not made very ill.Weaker individuals will die, and those left will have to deal with all thebiological waste somehow or risk much of the earth being uninhabitable for along time.

3) Many non-human races rely on humans as afood source! Vampires, largetrolls, dragons, rusalka, ghouls, wendigo, lycanthropes, etc. all feed onhumans. Some, like vampires, are entirely limited to humans such that, were allhumans to disappear, so would they… or else they would be reduced to drinkinganimal blood and become weakened and sick depending on which set of vampirelore you’re going with. My point is, taking out an entire food source that hadpreviously been so prevalent is going to rock the web of life and the foodchain considerably. Some races may die from lack of food, while others willbegin to eat other races… like elves,perhaps, potentially bringing about the extinction of other races who cannotsupport that level of predation.

In short… fae races and othernon-humans would have the common sense and wisdom to understand that taking outall humans is not the answer. So why doesn’t Nuada? After 2K+ years of life,why isn’t he wiser? My first answer is to call bullshit on Guillermo del Torobecause I think Nuada would be wiserthan that after all that time. There’s really no way he couldn’t be. But I’mnot going to do that because GdT is awesome and saying the canon is flawed isjust a copout answer anyway. XD So… I will go with a two-fold answer of 1) hisisolation after going into exile put him in an environment where he did notreceive very much constructive criticism or opposition. He isolated himself,stewed about his own ideas, and sought out other like-minded individuals (e.g.,Mr. Wink). That kind of lifestyle served to maintain, preserve, and perpetuatehis own ignorance. And 2) Nuada was poisoned by his own emotions, as we all knowis a definitely thing with elves. His anger, sadness, hopelessness, depression,etc. over what was happening to his people actually worked much the same waydepression does in humans… it chemically changed his brain to continue thatnegative thought pattern feedback loop, which then also led to him becomingphysically damaged by his own emotions as well. Ultimately, his way of thinkingwas actually altered by his emotions after spending enough time wallowing inthem without the help he needed or the opposition he potentially should havehad.

I hope this answered your questions,and thank you for sending this in! =D

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makku-ruko · 5 years

Text

Chill pill series

These characters all work at a clinic for faster and more efficient medical care. It’s quite obscure but the workers get the job done...most of the time. Killing/murder is strictly prohibited.

Paracetamol: Two sides to the same coin. On the clock, he’s rather brash, cold and bitter— strict and condescending with patients. He says it’s because of protocol as the rules state that in order for the patient to safely take the medicine, they must be in a certain frame of mind to do so— he just takes it too far, much like a switch in his brain. It may be an alter ego or a disorder. None of the clinic founders have been able to find out as of yet. When he isn’t working he’s: polite, welcoming, friendly and very reliable but there is only so much he can do. If the patient displays reactions to pain of a much larger scale, they will be transferred. If Paracetamol has too many patients however, he can become susceptible to overdosing on...himself. The limit hasn’t yet been gauged so his breaks are based on his behaviour. If it seems like he’s becoming slower mentally and physically, he’ll be ordered to close up for the day and rest.

In order to take paracetamol, the patient is asked to sit, close their eyes and open their mouth as wide as possible. There, Para will insert two or more fingers without touching the patient in any way and disperse his powder down their throat. This makes it easier for the drug to go straight into their bloodstream and take effect.

Vaccine: Vaccine is germaphobic bookworm. He prides himself on being knowledgeable and more reliable than the rest, however as he is more significant to saving a patient’s life, he was sentenced to private medical schooling in order to unlock his full potential. He is rather studious and quite proud but also timid and paranoid. His childhood friend is Heimlich as they were born around about the same time.

As he takes after the form of a syringe, he has fangs. In order to give patients their vaccinations, he is to bite them in the area they would otherwise be injected.

Heimlich: The Heimlich manoeuvre. His sole purpose is to save choking victims. His past however is rather dark and so had to be covered up lest the clinic be branded with a bad reputation.

As Heimlich is different to his other colleagues/siblings in the sense that he is essentially a method Process. Verb. Not a medication— His make up is rather unique. Kinetic energy runs in his veins so he will not bleed. The issue with this is that kinetic energy in large amounts can be catastrophic.

When Heimlich was born, he was basically a bulldozer. He knew nothing but action and couldn’t speak yet. He’d destroy everything in sight and so had to be ‘put down’ or ‘redone’. This left a scar on the tip of his left shoulder. (Lethal injection scar.)

Upon being reborn, he was tamer...too tame. When coming into contact with a choking dummy, he only watched it struggle and writhe until death with a blank expression. And so, another do-over was needed.

Next rebirth had him almost completely normal. He was obedient but begun developing his own personality. He’d become flippant and soon rebellious. The clinic founders overlooked it as a phase and allowed him the chance to have his first try at saving a choking patient as he’d managed to convince them that he was ready. Bad move. His first patient was violent and erratic. They wouldn’t let him touch them and continued running. Irritated by this, Heimlich grabbed them, growing violent himself. Trying to hold them still, he used his built-up energy too quickly and managed to break their neck. No remorse. This sent a wave of bad news through the press and the clinic begun to sink.

As a result, Heimlich was locked up in a freezer room in the hopes that the cold would slow down energy storage system. The founders thought it a good idea to leave this experience in his memory banks as it would deter him from doing it again once he was let out. Another wrong move. This caused a lot of animosity and resentment to grow within him as he was made to play back those events within his subconscious during his comatose period. 2 weeks. When he was let out, he wouldn’t speak or look at anybody but behaved himself up until he was permitted another attempt at saving a patient. This was his plan.

Once presented with another choking patient, he displayed signs of sociopathy. Grabbing a scalpel, he held it up to their face and asked them “Are you scared of me?”. Of course, the individual couldn’t answer but their response was no less than fearful. He continued all the while slowly approaching them. “Do you want me to help you? Will you run away? Does it hurt? Are you suffering.” The founders grew suspicious but were too slow to act.

“Don’t worry. I’ll save you.”

With that, the patient’s throat was promptly slitted opened. Yes, the item that was lodged in their throat was removed but only through swimming in a pool of their blood. Mission accomplished. At this point, he was well aware of the consequences and so accepted his punishment with a grin. His memories were completely wiped along with his knowledge of his own abilities. He was taught The Heimlich manoeuvre and nothing else. All he knows is to save choking patients without damaging them unless it’s necessary but only to the least degree i.e. bruising if force necessary. The rest would be taught in a controlled environment by a highly trained professional— medical school.

Despite his memories gone, he held his personality and ability to speak. As a reckless and rebellious personnel, he found a loophole and so if patients struggle in any way or make it difficult for him, he’ll use force which sometimes ends in vomit but bruising is more common. In case he goes rogue again, a security implant was embedded in his chest during his last rebirth which can shut him down and burn him out if absolutely necessary.

He is a delinquent and will skip class almost constantly but he has a soft spot for his tutor. At this current moment, he’s been schooled for a year.

—————

On his first day of class, he came in late. After being scolded, he challenged the tutor but wasn’t taken up on the offer and was put in his place. Sulking, he sat and listened to the teachings. As he was listening however, there were things he’d picked up on.

The scolding wasn’t degrading and he admired how this tutor was able to render him without a comeback. The way he spoke. It was unusual to him as he himself didn’t take seriously anything academical, but this was different. Fascinating. He’d find himself staring, forgetting to keep ignoring the lesson as to emphasise the fact that he didn’t care. His face. Could he call it handsome? He wasn’t sure. He just remembered the word but wasn’t sure where he’d learned it from. He knew he liked to see his tutor though. But one thing he was absolutely certain of was that he enjoyed being scolded by this person— causing trouble would always be worth it if this person would be the only one to reprimand him.

When Vaccine is praised for being a good student, Heimlich displays obvious signs of jealousy and so will act up just for the attention. His tutor is like a game he’d constantly want to play with and never grow bored. Next to that, he’s curious about his own attraction and so wants to push it whenever he can, so he will flirt casually without any regards to the mood. More often than not, that’s during detention.

Ethanol: (rubbing alcohol). Really shitty at flute playing. Helps patients by puking alcohol on the wounds or into a cloth to wash the wound. As a result of this, his fluids get drained quickly so he becomes his version of anaemic. From there, he’s to be transferred to ‘farm/hospital’ having his fluids replenished for over a period of a few days to weeks— it depends. Anaemia can occur sooner or later.

He’s also Heimlich’s best friend.

#Chill pill 💊#drawing archive #my ocs stuff #my ocs

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icharchivist · 5 years

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When it comes to Allen and Lavi's relationship, I've noticed (and/or noticed other fans pointed out) there's areas that are pretty one sided. What (if any) parts of their dynamic do you consider one sided that you hope gets development?

I’m almost certain there’s a post i’ve made going around about the two of them about how it kills me how it’s likely mostly one-sided nonny, trust me i know. That kills me more than i am willing to admit.

I mean the problem is that what Allen brings Lavi is so specific to Lavi’s situation as a “heartless Bookman” that I don’t really see how there’s anything that can be done. I mean it’s Allen almost dying that had Lavi realize he couldn’t just ignore his feelings anymore, and it is the newfound grief that had Lavi react recklessly attacking Tyki, and it is the relief of this trauma that had him cling to Allen more than anything.

While Lavi then evolved into seeing how incredible Allen is, what a dazzling light he is, how Allen is his weakness, that faith in humanity, all of that - that’s just things that were started by Losing Allen to start with and the fact Lavi was not ready to deal with grief, with the good of humanity, all that thing.

The problem is that…. Allen doesn’t need a reason to care about people.

Allen put distances between him and people but he cares selflessly and recklessly for everyone. Allen doesn’t need to be reminded how to connect to his feelings. And Allen had more or less successfully navigated through his grief of losing Mana and then later of losing Cross. Allen is much more emotionally stable than Lavi, because Allen acknowledge his own feelings. He doesn’t show them, but he acknowledge them. (im not saying allen is emotionally stable though let’s be clear, i’m just saying he’s more than Lavi, you need to consider that I consider Lavi to be a catastrophe, so anything looks great in comparaison).

and that’s ultimately the problem, Allen started a process in Lavi that is very specific to how uncaring Lavi pretended to be. There is no way for Lavi to provoke anything similar to Allen because the whole thing comes Allen’s own being and all.

Not to mention that Allen’s existance is what made Lavi question his duty, and there’s no way anything similar ever happen.

the other one sided thing is how Allen managed to ground Lavi back into reality when fighting Road, and that’s just. Again super tricky. But with those pesky “Allen believes Lavi is dead”, when Allen had to focus on the people he loved to refocus on reality, there wasn’t even Lavi in the gang. This is the most batlant accidental one sided of those where Allen was the only one to bring back Lavi into reality while Lavi is excluded from the “bringing Allen back to reality” process. *shakes fist to the sky* damnit manga.

So that’s kinda the problem though how could Allen start to feel anything more than what he feels for everyone? Unless he notices the sudden shift in Lavi- and that’s another one-sided thing, of Lavi being super observant so he noticed every single shift in Allen, while Allen pretty much accepts people as they are without second guessing them, so he doesn’t have any reason to keep an eye on Lavi.

like i said in another post, one of the thing I think they manage to complement each other on is actually how they kinda bring the most cheerful part of each other out? I mean when Lavi pranks Allen, Allen pranks back- he gets to be a teen for once. Every interraction between Lavi and Allen is ultimately cheerful, them having fun. There’s no real need to keep up with appearance or a fake smile because they’re already teasing each other enough to have other thing to focus on. Whenever Allen finds Lavi’s joke shitty or find it easy to get back at him with, he expresses his true feeling about it.tbh I hold onto the Komui corner of last volume where Allen teases Lavi and Wisely mentions it’s because Allen missed being able to tease him, more or less. While Allen can get to tease Kanda sometimes it is rarely in a such cheerful friendly ambiance than with Lavi. Ultimately that’s what they bring each other, they bring a more casual cheerfulness to each other. And I LOVE casualness, especially when it is about characters who are already dealing through the world ending on their shoulders.

And so to wonder how to make it less One-sided it would need Lavi to bring Allen something he desperately needs, and that Allen acknowledge it as such. Which is already impossible it seems.

I mean, there i have a major bias, but I think already that the even possibility of Allen relaxing near Lavi is unvaluable. Allen had been forced to grow up too fast, he keeps on appearance for everyone, keeps on a fake smile, and there’s something relieving about the idea of not even bothering keeping a fake smile because for once in a while you’re having fun y’know? That like the person is casual enough with you that you don’t feel like putting on a mask.

And that’s personally why i tend to ship them still as both sided because I feel like this one thing Lavi brings Allen is a breath of fresh air into that damn war, that fun, that moment of not having to play pretend.

And while Lavi having fun is nothing special -this is what he does to cope with his world, the same way Allen is always keeping a kindface- it can be for Allen, and that’s already something Lavi can give Allen.

But I ALSO know i’m overreading it and i’m just trying to justify myself.

So in order to mend that “one sided-ness” for good it would require eventually something far more serious. While fighting Lavi could have been a way to it, the fact it was all Road’s fault and Lavi seemingly got out alone (as he never told anyone how he got out, i think it was confirmed too in latest Komui’s corner) , there was no reason to eventually get a lot of question about losing Lavi and all.Edit: not to mention that when Lavi nearly died in the ark, that allen saw him fall, Allen was facing that much more people died and the 14th problem kinda took all over his mind when people could survive. I think Allen probably would have learnt to cope with near death experience more than Lavi ever did.

I think ultimately if Allen learns about Lavi’s survival AND the horrors Lavi had been through, it might push him back into being protective, but let’s be real, Allen would be like that with anyone. So how does it match with Lavi.

I don’t knooooow and it kills meeeeeee. I keep on thinking that the one thing Lavi can bring is happiness.

I think eventually if we’re going in the road of the Bookman linked to the Campbell and the 14th knowledge, would Lavi bring answer AND support to Allen when the time would come, it might be something to fuel Allen. Perhaps also some honesty for once about how much everything changed? Or perhaps managing a conversation with him by dropping the mask? I don’t knoooow.

But idk… both of them may have a hard time with people, but Lavi was because he hated humankind and he just needed to learn to love them. Allen is distant because he loves humanity, how do you top that.

So ye that’s. That’s a problem. And I have no answer. I really think it will depend where the arc is going.

Personally I have some wishful headcanons like a reversal of the “can’t you hear my voice” would be nice, with Allen being taken over by Nea- Still thinking that there might be conflict would Lavi react badly at anything Noah’s related if Nea enters the picture. Like imagine realizing how deeply Lavi was hurt because he suddenly shifted while mentioning the 14th and realizing that this managed to break him. Or a Noah playfully mentioning that all that time Allen just accepted Lavi’s death Lavi was suffering because of him!! That would turn Allen’s head around about how he accepted grief and “punish him” for doing so in a perfect reversal of Lavi. The horror, the anger, anything! I don’t know give me drama over their situations i’m taking anything at this point.

So huh. I. Don’t have any answer i’m sorry.

I reoffer “would Lavi giving some good time to Allen not work” as an answer if you don’t mind, at least to ease my bleeding heart.

Take care!

#ichafantalks dgm #*rests head over table*#I've cried hard over 'oh no oh no it is really one sided isn't it'#so ye i. ye. *takes a deep breath* yea.#i hope my post still sort of make sense bc i hold on to that alright #Anonymous #ichareply

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lechevaliermalfet · 6 years

Text

Pistols at Dawn: A Look at Doom and Marathon

In the mid-1990s, the first-person shooter genre was born with Doom. It wasn't the first game of its type. Games like Wolfenstein 3D and Blake Stone: Aliens of Gold preceded it. Catacomb 3D came before either of those. And you can trace the lineage further back if you like. But it was Doom that saw the kind of runaway success most development studios live and die without ever attaining. That success spawned imitators. It was the imitators and their imitations – some of them using the very same engine – that made it a genre. It's how genres are born.

It was interesting to watch that happen in real time.

But that's the PC side of history.

If you were a Macintosh user, you were probably sick to death of your PC-owning friends crowing about Doom, all the more because it wasn't available for your system of choice. Doom would eventually make its way Mac-ward... after its own sequel was eventually released for the system first. Absurd as this sounds, it didn’t really matter too much. Story, and the importance of continuity between games, wasn't exactly a big concern in Doom.

But Mac users had little reason to despair. Because although Doom was and is rightly remembered as a classic, Mac users were privy to a game nearly as good – probably even equal, maybe even better, depending on who you talk to.

That game was Marathon.

More below the cut.

It's hard trying to justify comparisons between Doom and Marathon, because despite their similarities, they aren't really in the same league. It's hard to compare any game that became the jumping-off point for a whole genre to its contemporaries. But as much as I lionize Doom, and as much as everyone else does the same, it's perhaps helpful to think that this is done with the benefit of hindsight. Today, in 2018, we've had nearly two-and-a-half decades of Doom being available for almost every single thing that could conceivably run it.

Remembering Doom in its time, it would have been hard to predict that it would go on to achieve quite the level of adulation it's garnered over the years. It's not that Doom doesn't deserve it. It's more that any game attaining this level of success both in its time and in the long term is basically impossible to predict. Doom was much talked about, it was wildly popular, you heard rumors of whole IT departments losing days of productivity to it in network games, but... Well, it was just one game. Later two. It was perfectly valid to suppose, in the mid-90s, that some developer would surely supplant it with something even better. That's just the way things worked. It's just that Doom was well-made enough, well-balanced enough, that "something even better" didn't come around for a long time.

Still, the Macintosh is not where I would have expected to look for real competition for Doom.

The Mac wasn't actually a barren wasteland, game-wise. It's just easy to remember it that way, especially if, like me, you grew up playing PC games. Most of the games we think of as being influential in the realm of computer gaming tended not to come from that direction. Mac users made up a smaller portion of overall computer users at that point. PCs (still often referred to as "IBM/PC compatibles" at the time) being the larger market and thus a source of larger potential profits, that was where the majority of developers focused their attention. The hassles of porting a game to Mac, whether handled by the original developer or farmed out to somebody else, were frequently judged not to be worth the potential profit. At times, it was determined not to be profitable in the first place.

There were a few games – Myst comes immediately to mind – that bucked this trend, but most Mac games only became influential once they crossed over to PCs, like... Well, like Myst did. The Mac ecosystem just wasn't big enough for anything that happened in it exclusively to influence the wider world of PC gaming.

Actually, let's go with that ecosystem analogy for a minute.

Mac gaming in the early 90s was sort of like Australia. It's a tiny system that only accounted for a small percentage of the biosphere. It had its own unique creatures, similar to animals occupying equivalent ecological niches elsewhere in the world. But on closer inspection, these turned out to all be very different from their counterparts, often in fundamental ways. And then you had some creatures with no real equivalents elsewhere. There was a lot of parallel evolution.

Case in point: Marathon.

Being released a scant eleven days after Doom, you definitely can't accuse it of being one of the imitators. It didn't happen in a vacuum, though.

Its creators, Bungie, were a sort of oddball company whose founders openly admitted that they started off in the Macintosh market not because of any fervent belief in the superiority of the platform, but because it was far less competitive than the PC market at the time.

They started off with Minotaur: The Labyrinths of Crete, a multiplayer-only (more or less) first-person maze game, and followed it up with Pathways Into Darkness.

Pathways was meant to be a sequel to Minotaur at first, until it morphed into its own thing over the course of its development. In genre terms, it's most like a first-person shooter. Except there are heavy adventure game elements, nonlinearity, and multiple endings depending on decisions you make during the game, which are pretty foreign to the genre. It also features a level of resource scarcity that wouldn't be at all out of place in a survival horror game.

Incidentally, I would love to see a source port of Pathways Into Darkness. It is its own weird, awkward beast of a game, and I would dearly love to be able to play it, after having seen only maybe ten minutes of gameplay at a friend's house one time when I was about twelve.

They followed this up with the original Marathon.

Doom is largely iterative. It follows on from a tradition of older FPS games made by its developer, like Wolfenstein 3D and Catacombs 3D. Like those predecessors, it relegates the little apparent story to pre-game and post-game text, and features a very video game-y structure that relies on discrete levels and fast, reflex-oriented play. It adds complexity and sophistication to these elements as seen in previous games, introducing more enemies, more weapons, and more complex and varied environments, then layers all of this on top of an already proven, solid gameplay core.

Marathon, by contrast, simplified and distilled the elements of previous games by its developer. It opts to be more clearly an FPS (as we understand it in modern terms) than any of its predecessors, shedding Pathways' adventure elements and non-linearity while increasing the player's arsenal. However, it's still less straightforward than Doom's pure level-by-level structure. Marathon presents itself as a series of objectives given to the player character (the Security Officer) by various other characters to be achieved within the level. These can range from scouting out particular areas, to ferrying items around the level, to clearing out enemies, to rescuing friendly characters, and so on.

Marathon's story, unlike Doom's, is front and center. Where Doom leaves the player to satisfy themselves that they are slowly progressing toward some ultimate enemy with every stage, Marathon gives the player concrete goals each step of the way, framing each objective as either a way to gain advantage over the enemy, or to recover from setbacks inflicted by them. Doom's story is focused on the player character and their direct actions. For narrative purposes, anything happening beyond your ability to observe is irrelevant. Marathon instead opts to give the player a feeling that although they are the one making crucial things happen in the story, they are not directing the action themselves.

Which brings me to something interesting about Marathon's story.

The player character, the Security Officer, has surprisingly little agency within the narrative. At a guess, I'd say that's because it would be almost impossible to express his own thoughts and emotions with the way the plot is relayed. It's true that most games -- especially in the FPS genre -- tell you what to do. Rescue the princess. Save the world. Prevent nuclear catastrophe. Etc. Etc. But this is normally done in an abstract sense, by presenting you a clear goal and some means to achieve it. Even open-world games like The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim have an overarching goal that you're meant to be slowly working your way toward.

But while your actions in a given game are generally understood to be working toward the stated goal, the player is usually presented in the narrative as having a choice – or perhaps more accurately as having chosen prior to the beginning of the game proper – regarding whatever path the game puts them on. Mario has chosen to go save Princess Toadstool. Link has chosen to go find the pieces of the Triforce and save Princess Zelda. Sonic has chosen to confront Doctor Robotnik. Even the Doom Guy has chosen to fight the demons infesting the moons of Mars on his own rather than saying "fuck it" and running. The reasons for these choices may in some cases be left up to the player to sort out or to apply their imagination, but the point remains. These characters have chosen their destinies.

The Security Officer from the Marathon trilogy, by contrast, does not. Throughout the games, he is presented as following orders. "Install these three circuits in such-and-such locations". "Scout out this area". "Clear the hostile aliens out of this section of the ship". And so on, and so forth. Even in the backstory, found in the manual, the character is just doing his job, responding to a distress call before he fully realizes the sheer scale of the problem. The player, as the Security Officer, is always moving from one objective to the next on the orders of different AI constructs who happen to be in control of him – more or less – at a given time. The Security Officer is clearly a participant in events, but he lacks true agency.

In fairness, it must have been hard to figure out how to tell a compelling story within the context of a first-person shooter back in the early 90s, which is why so few people did it.

I'm not enough of a programmer to be able to explain it well (understatement; I'm not any kind of programmer), but the basic gist of it is that games like Doom weren't technically in 3D. The environments were rendered in such a way that they appeared in three dimensions from the player's perspective, but as earlier versions of source ports like ZDoom made clear, this was an illusion, one that was shattered the moment you enabled mouse aiming and observed the environments from any angle other than dead-ahead. The enemies, meanwhile, were 2D sprites, which was common in video games of any type for the day.

This was how Marathon was set up as well. It's how basically every first-person shooter worked until the release of Quake – and some after it.

The problem is that this doesn't lend itself very well to more cinematic storytelling. Sprites tended not to be very expressive given the lower resolutions of the day. At least, not sprites drawn to relatively realistic proportions like the ones in Doom and Marathon. So you couldn't really do cinematic storytelling sequences with them, and that left only a handful of other options for getting your story across.

You could do what I tend to think of as Dynamic Stills, a la Ninja Gaiden on the NES. At its best, it enables comic book-style storytelling, but that's about as far as it goes.

You can do FMV cutscenes, which at the time basically involved bad actors in cheap costumes filmed against green screens or really low-budget sets. CG was relatively uncommon (and likely prohibitivesly expensive) even in the mid-90s.

You can do mostly text, interspersed throughout your game.

You can just not have much story at all.

Doom opted for option four. John Carmack has been quoted as saying that story in video games is like story in porn. Everybody expects it to be there, but nobody really cares about it.

I disagree with this sentiment pretty vehemently, as it happens. There are some games that aren't well served by a large amount of plot, and Doom is definitely one of them. But to state that this is or should be true for the medium as a whole is frankly ridiculous.

There's something refreshing, almost freeing, about a game that has less a story than a premise. Doom starts off on Phobos, one of the moons of Mars, which has been invaded by demons from hell. They've gained access by virtue of human scientists' experimentation with teleportation technology gone horribly, horribly wrong. The second episode sees you teleported to Deimos, which as been entirely swallowed up by Hell, and which segues from the purely technological/military environments of Doom to more supernatural environs. Episode 3 has you assaulting Hell proper. Doom II's subtitle, Hell on Earth, tells you pretty much everything you need to know about the setting and premise of the game.

That's it. There are no characters to develop or worry about. It's just you as the lone surviving marine, your improbably large arsenal, and all the demons Hell can throw at you. Go nuts.

Bungie, meanwhile, took a different approach. I can't seem to find out which of their founders said it, but they have been on record as basically being diametrically opposed to Id Software in their attitude about story. "The purpose of games is to tell stories." I wish I knew who at Bungie said that.

Marathon is very much a story-oriented game. Of the aforementioned methods of storytelling, they opted for option three: text, and lots of it.

Marathon's story is complex and labyrinthine, especially as it continues through the sequels (Marathon 2: Durandal and Marathon Infinity), and is open to interpretation at various points. Much is left for the player to piece together themselves. Aside from the player character, the story mainly centers on the actions of three AI constructs: Leela (briefly), Durandal, and Tycho. Their actions, in the face of an invasion by a race of alien slavers called the Pfohr, drive the story.

Their words and actions are relayed to the player by way of text at terminals scattered throughout the game's environments. Some of these take the form of orders and objectives given by the AI to the player character, the Security Officer. Some of these are more musings or rants (two out of the three AIs you work for over the course of the Marathon trilogy are not exactly all there), which serve to flesh out events happening beyond the player's observations, and help build the world. Some of these are seemingly random bits of background information, presented as if they were being accessed by someone else (often an enemy) before they were distracted by something – usually you, shooting everything in sight.

Design-wise, there are some interesting differences.

Doom is old-school from a time when that was the only school, with levels that strike a nice balance between video game-y and still giving at least a vague sense that they were built to be something other than deathtrap mazes. But what makes them old-school, at this point, is the fact that they're levels, with discrete starting and ending points, where your goal is to move from the former to the latter and hit the button or throw the lever to end it and begin the next one.

There's no plot to lose the thread of, no series of objectives for you to lose track of if you put the game down for a week, or a month, or longer still. It's extremely pick-up-and-play, equally well suited to killing twenty minutes or a whole afternoon, as you like.

The appeal (aesthetics aside) of Doom is also at least in part its accessibility. It has a decently high skill ceiling (which is to say, the level of skill required to play at an expert level), but a surprisingly low skill floor (the level of skill required to play with basic proficiency), which has lent it a certain evergreen quality. And Id Software has been keen to capitalize on this. Doom is one of a small number of PC games (Diablo II is the only other one I can think of off the top of my head; what is it with games that have you fighting demons from Hell?) that have been commercially viable and available basically from the day they were released. In addition to DOS on PCs, Doom was rejiggered for Windows 95, and also (eventually) saw release for Mac. Also, it's been sold for multiple consoles: the Super NES, the Sega 32X (regrettably), the Atari Jaguar (also regrettably), the PlayStation, the N64, the Xbox 360, the PlayStation 3, and the Xbox One (the 360 version again, via backward compatibility). And source ports have kept the PC version alive and kicking, adding now-standard features like mouse aiming, particle effects, and support for widescreen displays.

The result is a game that, if you don't mind pixelated graphics, is as ferociously playable today as it was twenty-four years ago (as of this writing), and has enjoyed a kind of longevity usually not seen outside the realm of first-party Nintendo classics.

Marathon by contrast is somewhat less inviting.

From a technical standpoint, Marathon is more or less the equal of Doom. The environments throughout the series are rendered at a somewhat higher resolution, but the enemies are less well animated. Marathon also introduced the idea of mouse aiming to the FPS genre, and allowed the player to use that to look (and aim) vertically, which hadn't been done before either. Even Doom, though it also introduced more vertical gameplay, locked the player's movement to the strictly horizontal; vertical aiming was accounted for automatically, although source ports have modernized this. Marathon leans into its verticality a little more as a result, and level layouts are more complex, bordering on the impossiblely convoluted without the aid of your automap.

While I wouldn't go so far as to say that Marathon would classify as a survival horror game, there are some elements of that genre in it. This is almost certainly unintentional, and I'm identifying them as such retroactively (the genre hadn’t really arrived yet). Still, they exist. Ammunition is more scarce than in Doom, forcing the player to lean on the lower end of their arsenal far later into the game than Doom does. Some weapons also feature alternate fire modes, which was a genre first.

Health packs are nonexistent; instead, the player can recharge their health at terminals designed for this purpose, usually placed very sparingly. Saving is also handled at dedicated terminals – a decision better befitting a console game, and somewhat curious here. In addition to health, there is also an air gauge, which depletes gradually whenever the player is in vacuum or underwater, and which can be difficult to find refills for.

Marathon also marks the early appearance of weapon magazines in the first-person shooter genre. Doom held to the old design established by Wolfenstein and older games that the player fires their weapons straight from the ammo reserves. If you have a hundred shotgun rounds, then you can fire a hundred times, no reload necessary. The reloading mechanic as we would most readily recognize it seems to have been added for the genre with Half-Life, for reasons of greater realism and introducing tension to the game.

Marathon's version of this, as you might expect for a pioneering effort, is pretty rough. There is no way to manually reload your weapons when you want. Rather, the game will automatically cycle through the reload animation once you empty the magazine. It does helpfully display how many rounds remain in the magazine at all times so you know how many you have left before a reload, and can plan accordingly. But it still exerts the familiar reload pressure, just in a different way. Rather than asking yourself whether you have the spare seconds for a reload to top off your magazine, now you have to ask yourself whether it's wiser to just fire the last few rounds of the magazine to trigger the reload now, when it's safe, so that you have a full magazine ready to go for the next encounter. Marathon's tendency to leave you feeling a little more ammo-starved than Doom makes this decision an agonizing one at times.

Id's game is pretty sparing with the way it doles out rockets and energy cells for the most high-powered weapons, true. But the real workhorse weapons, the shotgun and the chaingun, have ammo lying around in plenty. Past a certain early point in any given episode of Doom or Doom II, as long as you diligently grab whatever ammo you come across and your aim is even halfway decent, you never have to worry about running out. Marathon, by contrast, sees you relying on your pistol for a good long while. Compared to other weapons you find, it has a good balance of accuracy and availability of ammunition.

The overall pacing and difficulty of both games is also somewhat different.

Both games are hard, but in different ways. Doom has enemies scattered throughout a level in ones and twos, but most of the major encounters feature combinations and larger numbers. But the plentiful ammo drops and health packs mean the danger of these encounters tends to be relatively isolated, and encourages fast maneuvering and some risk-taking. If you can make it through a given encounter, you usually have the opportunity to heal up and re-arm before the next one. Doom is centered around its action. It gives you the shotgun – which you’ll be using for most of the game, thanks to its power – as early as the first level if you’re on the lookout for secrets, and by the second level, you really can’t miss it.

Marathon, by contrast, paces itself (and the player) differently. Ammo gets doled out more sparingly, and health recharge stations are likewise placed few and far between (rarely more than one or two in a stage, at least so far as I’ve played, and small enough that they can be easily overlooked). Save points are likewise not always conveniently placed, and the fact that the game has save points means that you can’t savescum, and dying can result in a fair amount of lost progress. The result is that, unless you’re closer to the skill ceiling, you tend to play more carefully and conservatively. You learn to kite enemies, stringing them along to let you take on as few at a time as possible.

The tactics I developed to play games like Doom and later Quake didn’t always serve me very well when I first started playing Marathon. The main danger in Bungie’s game is the death of a thousand cuts. Where Doom attempts in most cases to destroy you in a single fell swoop, Marathon seeks to wear you down bit by bit until you have nothing left, and you’re jumping at shadows, knowing that the next blow to fall may be your last. It encourages more long-term thinking. Similar to a survival horror game, every clip spent and every hit taken has meaning, and can alter your approach to the scenario you find yoruself in.

In short, if Doom is paced like a series of sprints, Marathon is, well... a marathon.

Another interesting difference is how both games deal with their inherent violence.

As games which feature future military men mowing down whole legions of enemies by the time the credits roll, violence is a matter of course. It becomes casual. But both games confront it in different ways.

Doom was one of the games that helped stir up a moral panic in the U.S. in the early to mid-90s (alongside Mortal Kombat, most notably). While I don't agree with it, it was hardly surprising. Doom gloried in its violence. Every enemy went down covered in blood (some of them came at you that way), some of them straight-up liquefying if caught too near an explosion. This is to say nothing of all the hearts on altars or dead marines littering the landscape to provide the proper ambiance.

The idea was simple: You were surrounded by violent monsters, and the only way to overcome them was to become equally violent. The game's fast pace and adrenaline-rushing gameplay only served to emphasize this. Doom isn't a stupid game by any means – it requires a certain amount of cleverness and a good sense of direction in addition to good reflexes and decent aim to safely navigate its levels -- but the primary direction it makes you think in is how? How do I get through this barrier, how do I best navigate through these dark halls, how do I approach this room full of enemies that haven't seen me yet?

Marathon asks those questions as well, because any decent game is constantly asking you those questions, because they are all variations on the same basic question any game of any kind (video games, board games, whatever) is asking you: How do you overcome the challenges the game throws at you using the tools and abilities the game gives you?

The difference (well, the narrative difference, distinct from all the rest) is that Marathon also talks about the violence seemingly inherent in human nature as one of a variety of things in its narrative.

To be fair, Marathon brings it up pretty briefly in its terminal text. But one of the terminals highlights Durandal's musings on the Security Officer, and humankind in general.

Organic beings are constantly fighting for life. Every breath, every motion brings you one instant closer to your death. With that kind of heritage and destiny, how can you deny yourself? How can you expect yourself to give up violence?

Indeed, it may be seen as not just useful, but a necessary and essential component of humanity. Certainly it's vital to the Security Officer's survival and ultimate victory in the story of the games.

And yet, on the whole, Marathon is a less violent game. Or at least, it glories in its violence less. Enemies still go down in a welter of their own blood, because that happens when you shoot a living creature full of bullet holes. But it's less gory on the whole – bloody like a military movie, bloody as a matter of fact, in contrast to Doom's cartoonishly overwrought slasher-flick excess.

And yet it's Marathon that feels compelled to grapple with its violence, to ask what motivates it, not just in the moment, but wherever it appears in the nature and history of humankind.

On the whole, I think I come down on the side of Marathon, personally. Its themes, its aesthetic, and its characters are more to my liking. True, part of this is simply because Marathon has characters. Doom has the player character and a horde of enemies. Even the final boss of each installment has no narrative impact to speak of. They simply appear in order to be shot down. They're presented as the forces behind the demonic invasion, but aside from being bigger and stronger than all the other demons you face, there's no real sense of presence, narratively. And that's fine. But on the balance, I tend to prefer story in my games, and Marathon delivers, even as it's sometimes a bit janky, even as I get the feeling that Bungie's reach exceeded their grasp with it.

I can recognize Doom as the game that's more accessible, and probably put together a little better, and of course infinitely more recognizable. Id still sells it, and generally speaking, it's worth the five whole dollars (ten if you want Doom II as well) it'll cost you on PSN, or Xbox Live, or Steam.

Bungie, meanwhile, gave the Marathon trilogy away for free in the early 2000s. It's how I finally managed to play it, despite never owning a Mac. There are source ports that allow it to be played on PCs (or Linux, even). About the only new development in the franchise was an HD remaster of Marathon 2: Durandal for the Xbox 360. In the same vein as the remasters for Halo or Halo 2, this version changes nothing about the original except to update the graphics and adapt the control scheme for a 360 controller.

I'd love to see a remake of Marathon with modern technology, even though I know it's extraordinarily unlikely to happen. Bungie's occupied with Destiny for the foreseeable future. The most we've gotten in ages is a few Easter eggs. 343 Guilty Spark in the original Halo featured Durandal's symbol prominently on his mechanical eye, which fueled speculation for a little while that perhaps Halo took place in the same continuity. There's another Easter egg in Destiny 2 that suggests two of its weapons, the MIDA Multi-tool and the MIDA Mini-tool, fell out of an alternate universe where Marathon's events occurred instead of Destiny's. But that's been it.

The tragedy of Marathon is that it wasn't in a position for its innovations to be felt industry-wide.

Doom had the better overall playability and greater accessibility. If you were to ask where a lot of FPS genre innovations came from, the average gamer would probably not point to Marathon as the progenitor of those things. Quake would probably get credit for adding mouse aiming (even though it wasn't a standard menu option, and had to be enabled with a console command), or else maybe Duke Nukem 3D. Unreal would most likely get credited as the genesis of alternate firing modes, while Half-Life is probably the one most people remember for introducing the notion of reloading weapons. I'm not totally sure which other FPS would get the nod for mainstreaming the greater presence of story in the genre – probably Half-Life again.

But since it's free, I would strongly recommend giving the Marathon trilogy a spin. It's a little rough around the edges even judged by the standards of its time, but still eminently playable, with a strong story told well. And if it seems at times like the FPS That History Forgot, well, that's because History was mostly looking the other way at the time. It's part of the appeal for me, too. It feels at times like a "lost" game.

Let that add to its mystique.

#doom #marathon #retro games #retro gaming #first person shooter #fps #id softward #bungie

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theinvulnerabletide · 6 years

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OC Ask Meme: wardrobe, poison, contact (Whisper); microscope, mixtape, hobby (Oriana); photo album, ufo, interiors (Celandine); fragrance, parachute, psyche (Lyra); conspiracy theory, shooting star (Maggie); lighting, love note, chess board, wild card (any)

Alright, this got super long so the answers are under the cut!

Whisper:

Wardrobe:What is your OC’s style like?

It’s kind of hard to describe; Whisper tries not to beas loud and clashy as, say, Ignatius, but after living with a carnival foralmost seven years, it is hard for her not to be a little bold. Far from themore simple, elegant style she started with. Bright, jewel-tone colors that compliment and play off the color of her skin,complicated embroidery, statement jewelry pieces on her ears, around her neck,and wrists and horns and tail. But while it is bold and eye catching, it is allpainstakingly coordinated, so it’s visually interesting but not exhausting tolook at. She loves cute dresses with diaphanous layers, or travelling breaches andblouses so tight they might as well be a leotard, stuff she can move in, or runin, as needed. Even when she tries to dress simply, there’s plenty of embroideryor an innovative cut to her clothes. Her brand-new armor, the one with the mithril weave, is a play off of one ofher old performance outfits. It’s a sort of bold teal, the blue and the greensmixing and changing along the fabric, which plays interestingly with the darkerindigo of her skin, and it’s embroidered along the tight bodice with gold. Thesleeves come down to a midshoulder and there’s a bit of flutter to them, andthere’s a bit of a half-skirt, more of a sash really, in a bold blue-green,also chased through with gold. That ends mid-thigh, revealing a pair ofleggings in a darker blue, which disappear into a set of boots she can walk in.It clashes a bit with the gem on her focus, but it works. Poison: Vices/Bad Habits? What are they?How do they affect your OC?

Whisper has quite a few vices, yes. Drinking, quiteoften, the occasional drug, or spot of gambling, and sex. You know, all themajor ones.

I don’t think they’re too out of hand. While shedefinitely self-medicates with whiskey, and sex when there’s a willing partner,she isn’t necessarily dependent on them. Like, she hasn’t had a single drinksince boarding the Star Song, because drinking and the subsequent hangoverswould impede her ability to work on this spell. But they are the first thingshe turns to when she doesn’t want to deal with her emotions or with whatevertraumatizing thing just happened.

Contact:how does your OC feel about touch/physical contact? Are they affectionate? Ifso, ow do they display affection to others?

Whisper is very touchy; the circus she spent the lastfew years in was very, very close, and there was basically no such thing aspersonal space. While she knows other people aren’t usually as touchy as sheis, she definitely still gets in other people’s personal space quite often. Shehugs people, cuddles up next to them, jabs their arms and high fives and allsorts of things. No forehead kisses though, she thinks that might bemisconstrued. Or construed correctly, as the case may be.

Oriana:

Microscope:Zoom In: describe the little, insignificant details about your OC.

Oriana’s nose is small and slender, upturned at theend. Between that and the freckles that constellate across the bridge of hernose and along her cheekbones, she can almost be called cute, though she won’tthank you for saying it. Her eyes are gold, molten and dark towards the centerand lightening outwards. Her ears are ever so slightly pointed, barelynoticeable under the sable of her hair, even when her hair is pinned up and outof the way.She is shorter than most of the rest of the party, 5’ 4’’ or 5’ 5’’ on a goodday, but broad shouldered and well-muscled, with a little bit of a belly, whichno one ever sees because Oriana is rarely out of her armor, even if her newarmor clings a little more than she’s used to.

Mixtape:5 songs that describe your OCs, or songs they themselves would like.

Take Up Your Spade – Sara WatkinsWaking Up the Giants – GrizfolkNever One Thing – May ErlewineSpark – Backstage CastWhite Flag – Bishop Briggs

Hobby:What do they love? What captivates them? What are their passions?

Oriana has surprisingly few hobbies. She reads, a lot,about everything: copper dreadfuls to ent philosophy, to religious doctrines tohistorical texts. She loves the simple act of reading, of being transported, ofassimilating knowledge and understandingthings.

Stories are what really captivate her though: strongand vibrant heroines and the men who support them, toppling evil empires andmaking their worlds safe forever after.

She also likes to knit, though she hasn’t had a chanceto do that in a very long time. Yarn has been hard to come by recently.

Celandine:

PhotoAlbum: Describe one of your OC’s favorite memories:

Probably the first time she felt like the Lunch Bunchwere really her friends, and not just humoring her or setting her up to be meanto her later, all of them laughing together at their lunch table.

UFO:Identity! What are some of key identifying traits of your OCs? How do theyidentify in regards to gender/sexuality?

Celandine is a 13-year-old super genius, so her intelligenceand creativity, her inventions, are what she puts the most emphasis on. Sexualitywise, she’s 13, so she’s still exploring, but she’s definitely had crushes onboys and girls and enbies before, so she thinks she might be pan.

Interiors:Describe your OC’s bedroom/home/place they consider theirs? What’s in it? Docertain items have special significance to your OC?

Celandine’s room is a little small, even by gnomishstandards, made smaller by her insistence of having an entire workbench in herroom, stocked with tools and materials. Her bookshelf is full to bursting, withmore books stacked on top—fantasy novels intermingled with instruction manualsand text books—and on every other available surface, her projects are laid outin various stages of readiness. Half-finished music boxes balanced on herbooks, her armor on the bed, the heelies she’s working on the actual workbench,and whatever is currently taking her fancy balanced on her lap as she sits inalmost the perfect center of her room.

The only part of her room that’s clean is her dresserand her closet—she keeps that meticulous. Clothes are the last thing she wantsto worry about, so she makes it so she can just grab an acceptable outfit andgo in the morning.

The walls are covered in band posters and schematics,with the one from Kaylie’s last word tour pasted right above her bed. She doeslove music, so she, of course, has a radio that she “fixed” on her bedsidetable, and it is always on while she works.

Lyra:

Fragrance: What does your OC smell like?

Lyra doesn’t wear fragrance—perfumeheralds your arrival as much as an errant step can—and all her soaps arelikewise unscented. So she smells of the leather she wears (leather gloves,jerkin, boots), and the polish she uses on every one of her weapons after takingthem to the whetstone, and possibly, after spending so much time in the crow’snest and at the bow of the Star Song as it races through the skies, a littlebit like a strong headwind.

Parachute: who does your OC trust the most? Who makes themfeel safe? Who would they do absolutely anything for?

There are exactly 8 people in theworld Lyra trusts at all, 8 people she will drop everything to help if theyneed it. Her old party: Arannis, Cora, Atrauk and Haskell, Esssstefan, the Yuan-Tiwho taught her how to fly, Elissssabeth, Lucien, and the milliner who makes herhats in Kamery.

But it’s none of them individually thatmake her feel safe, though having her party at her back helped, as does Lucienwhen he brings her back from a panic attack. The first time she ever felt safeafter the catastrophe in Kamery was when she and her party took the airship upfor the first time. It’s probably the only time she feels safe at all, really,when they’re a thousand feet off the ground and the world below looks small andinsignificant, and she knows nothing down there can touch her.

Psyche: what’s their headspace like? Do they have any mentalillnesses? How do they process difficult or emotional situations? What aretheir coping mechanisms. Lyra’s headspace is… dark, for lack of a better word. Functional, but not muchelse. She spent quite a lot of her time scraping by on the streets of Kamery,in all kinds of deprivation before she was swept up by one of the more highprofile gangs as a sort of catchall, though her expertise was infiltration andtheft, and the occasional murder. She can manage to charm a pigeon into herhand for a small amount of time, but she is just as like to stab them as liftthe thing she needs from them.

Blackthorne tried to hone her into anunquestioning weapon in his arsenal, using pain and necessities as punishmentand reward, and mostly succeeded. The rest of the Magpies—Cyrene in particulartried remind her she was a person, but Lyra pretty much snapped when they alldied around her, killed at Blackthorne’s orders.

So basically, Lyra has some prettymajor PTSD and an inability to handle more complex emotions. So mostly shejust… doesn’t process them. She shoves them back into the recesses of her mindand tries to remain more or less emotionless. It doesn’t work, obviously, butshe has managed to make it so she doesn’t have emotional responses like onemight think. And they always come out in her nightmares and occasional panicattacks.

She’s gotten better since Lucien hascome into her life; forcing her to talk about them, just being at her back; halfof Lucien’s job is to play therapist after Lyra has a particularly bad episode.He keeps her from breaking apart into a million pieces.

Otherwise, Lyra meditates onoccasion, and keeps her skills sharp. She makes sure she’s never anywherewithout a weapon—which has become easier since she gained some magic of herown—and keeps daggers hidden all throughout her room. She counts them beforeshe goes to sleep, making sure that they’re able to be slid out of theirsheaths and be in her hand at a moment’s notice. And woe to the crewman whotries to slip into her room while she’s asleep without announcing themselves;their like to get a dagger in the eye for their trouble.

Maggie:

Conspiracy theory: what are your OC’sbeliefs? Are they skeptics or do they believe easily? Who acts on blind faith,who needs to see to believe?

Maggie’s relationship with religionis… complicated. It’s not that she doesn’t believe in Avacyn—she sees the magicpriests have, and she assume it has to come from somewhere—but she does distrustthe church, perhaps even the Goddess herself, and has a hard time believing thatthey have the people’s best interests at heart. After all, they’re in power now,and people in power very often will do anything to keep it.

Maggie does also tend to be a bit ofa skeptic, at least when it comes to people, but she knows magic can make quitea few things possible, and that the world is a complex place. Even seeingsomething doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s real. Shooting star: If your OC could have onewish, what would it be?

To see her father again.

Any:

Lighting: Who is the most impulsivecharacter? Who is their impulse control?

Honestly, I love impulsive characters?So more often than not my character is going to just say “fuck it” and do whatthey want. Basically because I have no impulse control myself. I think Az’ar andOriana might be the only charactersof mine who doesn’t give into their impulses more often than the do.

But of my other characters, I thinkWhisper, Lyra and Celandine might be the most impulsive. Whisper is held backby Thia and Oriana and her mother’s voice in her head, Celandine is pretty muchheld back exclusively by Caela (the poor girl), and right now Lyra doesn’t haveanyone to hold her back—maybe Lucien, but crew seems to be just as bad as sheis—she’s had to learn how to hold herself back, now that Arannis and Atrauk andCora aren’t around to council her to be careful.

Love note: who likes who? Crushes? Relationships? Are theymutual or unrequited?

I think of all my D&D characters,Wren is the only one who is actually in a relationship, and whose love is requited.In fact, finding Narissa, who was taken back to the Feywild, is her wholereason for going on this adventure.

Whisper expects her attraction to mostof the party is mutual—why wouldn’t they be attracted to her, she’s gorgeousand clever and an absolute delight—but the feelings she may or may not have forsome of them she expects are completely unrequited.

Celandine is 13 and has basically hadbrief crush on half the school, though her most enduring one is on KaylieShorthalt, who is also her favorite singer. Since Kaylie and Celandine areyears and years apart and have never actually met, it’s safe to say that’sunrequited.

Lyra has something for Arannis. She refusesto think about it and stubbornly tells herself that it’s just admiration andrespect and friendship, but even if it were mutual, Lyra would never let ithappen. Chess Board: who is the most logical? Orthe schemer/planner?

Az’ar, Lyra and Celandine are all schemers.They’ve all got plans for days, though Lyra less so than she used to. EvenWhisper has schemes of her own, though they’re mostly borrowed from Ignatius’play book. Az’ar is probably the most logical of them all though.

Wild card:

I stole this question from another askmeme, and, well, as someone who loves angst, I couldn’t resist: Is your character afraid of death? Ifthey got to choose how to die, how would they want to go?

I think, of all my characters, onlyOriana is not scared of death to some extent or another. Az’ar is so terrifiedof it that she’d kill the god of death to secure immortality, and Whisper woulddo almost anything to avoid it herself, at least until her appointed time.

But Oriana would like to die inbattle, Whisper would prefer to die completing her mission, Maggie merely wantsto die ‘doing the right thing’, and I think Lyra has no preference. She’shonestly surprised she continues to breathe. But she expects to go down in ablaze of glory with the Star Song when the years finally catch up with her.

#long post for ts #oc ask meme #ask me anything!#whisper the tiefling sorceress #oriana the aasimar paladin #celandine the gnomish wizard #lyra the half-elven rogue #maggie the human warlock #whatever the hell this #sprin'torel campaign #innistrad campaign #islanderscaper

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worryinglyinnocent · 6 years

Text

Fic: The Darkness Within (27/?)

Summary: When washed-up paranormal investigator Rum Gold meets Belle French, he does not quite know what to make of her claim of a supernatural presence in her life, but sensing her genuine fear, he begins to investigate. What he uncovers shakes the cynicism he has so long held to its very core, and he calls in the help of disgraced ex-priest Father Macavoy to help him lay some demons to rest…

A slow burn, eventual rumbellavoy. The rating may increase in later chapters.

Rated: M

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [Eleven] [Twelve] [Thirteen] [Fourteen] [Fifteen] [Sixteen] [Seventeen] [Eighteen] [Nineteen] [Twenty] [Twenty-One] [Twenty-Two] [Twenty-Three] [Twenty-Four][Twenty-Five] [Twenty-Six] [AO3]

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Twenty-Seven

There had been several moments over the last few days when Joseph had felt like he was holding onto the end of a very long piece of string, and the more he pulled at it, the longer and more tangled it seemed to get. Usually, untangling string was something of a cathartic process which would leave someone feeling calm and satisfied by the end of it, with a nice neat ball of string to show for it. No tangles, no unexpected swerves off in another direction that didn’t really make sense, and certainly no strange languages that hadn’t been spoken for several centuries.

Still, even though it felt like every discovery he made threw up a whole bunch more unanswered questions, at least he was actually making discoveries.

He’d probably also destroyed several rainforests in the process. He looked around himself at the sea of paper that was strewn around his flat, now covering almost every surface with loose leaf notes, printed and photocopied pages, and open books. The pile of abandoned research in the corner of his bedroom was now no more; it was all out and in use once more. A part of him found it invigorating to be back in the investigating game again; it had been work that he had enjoyed and dedicated himself to before everything had gone horribly wrong. Mostly he just found it confusing, the quagmire getting ever deeper and showing no signs of releasing him or becoming any less sticky.

Finally he reached over the piles of papers and grabbed the computer, opening up Skype to see if Belle or Gold were available. He didn’t have a lot to add to their case, but it was good to check in with them regularly to make sure that nothing catastrophic had happened across the pond whilst he had been blissfully unaware and continuing his research without knowing what horrors might be going on whilst he was asleep in a different time zone.

Gold was available.

I’ve done some more research, Joseph typed. Are you available for a quick call?

Yes, nothing’s going on here. Belle’s with me too.

It was good to see Belle and Gold together again when the call finally connected. Whatever had happened to shake them up at Ella’s place had obviously been either put to the back of their minds or worked through in some way.

“So, what have you got this time?” Belle asked.

“Not a whole lot,” Joseph admitted. “After finding out how the entity had ended up with you, I tried to work out how Malcolm had managed to get it out of him in the first place, but I hit a brick wall there, because there are so many different ways to banish demons and spirits, and it all depends on what the entity actually is. From the questions we’ve already asked it, we know that it’s not something generic, it’s a specific entity and that means that whatever untethered it has to be specific as well. So, I decided that finding out what it actually is would be a better idea, and to that end, I started trying to find out who Nimue was.”

“Right.” Gold was leaning forward, intrigued and eager to learn more. “Nimue was the first of the bloodline, so presumably she’s one of my ancestors.”

“That’s a good assumption to make. I’ve been tracking down your family tree, Gold. You know, geneaology’s much more interesting when it’s somebody else’s.”

Gold rolled his eyes. He had always been the snarky and sarcastic one of their partnership and Joseph had to take whatever opportunities for terrible quips that he could. He didn’t get all that many these days.

“Anyway, there’s not a lot of superfluous information available,” Joseph continued, sensing that it would probably be best to get back to the point. “It’s mostly just names and dates and professions, there’s not all that much about medical history or anything like that. What bits and pieces I have been able to find show that there’s been a strong AB negative blood line as far back as the records show and it passes from first born to first born, usually along a male bloodline but there were a few ladies a bit further back.”

“Right. I don’t suppose you’ve been able to find out if any of my ancestors showed any symptoms similar to Belle’s?” Gold asked. “Maybe that’s the point. Maybe it didn’t show in my family and only presents in Belle because she’s not of the original bloodline.”

Joseph shook his head with a grimace.

“No. Unfortunately I think it presented in your family too. A very helpful librarian’s been helping me sort through archives and periodicals. There are a few accounts of people with the Gold name suffering from sleepwalking and strange seizures and fits. Mostly they’ve been attributed to epilepsy and other such neurological conditions, but I think we all know to take that with a pinch of salt.”

“Right.” Gold was silent for a moment, digesting that information. “Was there anything from further back? From before the advent of neuroscience when everyone thought of fits as being possessed by the devil?”

Beside him, Belle gave a snort of laughter. “Oh, the irony. For so many years, medical conditions were misdiagnosed as possession, and now we’ve got possession misdiagnosed as a medical condition.”

Joseph shook his head. “No, there’s nothing from that far back. There’s just one thing that keeps cropping up that seems to go back a very long time, to before there were records.”

“What’s that?”

“Has your family ever owned a ceremonial sword, Gold?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve found a few references to a ceremonial sword.” Joseph shrugged. “I just thought that it was interesting because I came across it more than once.”

Gold looked completely thrown for a while.

“No,” he said flatly. “No, I’ve never known anything about a ceremonial sword.”

“Well, that’s all I’ve got for you today, I’m afraid. I’ll keep looking. Hopefully I’ll be able to get a bit further back and finally find Nimue, and see if there’s anything about her and how she started the whole thing off.”

They continued to talk for a little while about everything that was going on; and Belle and Gold’s failed experiment to see if the entity would raise its head again. Joseph had to wonder if they’d try again tonight, and he couldn’t help thinking that perhaps Gold was tempting fate somewhat. Still, that wasn’t his problem. All he could do was try to help as much as he could from another country, so very far away.

He shook himself as he closed the call. He hadn’t even met Belle in person yet, and probably never would, and he was already getting far too attached to her and her case. Perhaps there was the slightest touch of jealousy there, that Gold was there with her in the middle of it and able to provide that comfort and shoulder to cry on.

Joseph pushed the thoughts of the unattainable to the back of his mind. Back to work.

Joseph was about to shut everything down for the night when Skype pinged with the arrival of a new message from Belle.

Hi Joseph. I know it’s late over there but I only just got back from Rum’s place and I wanted to speak to you alone. Is it ok if I call?

Joseph looked over at the clock. It wasn’t as if he had a lot to do the next day other than work on the case and uncover more about Gold’s family tree and any potential swords that may have found their way into it.

Of course, go ahead.

She called less than a minute later, and Joseph could see the familiar surroundings of her apartment in the background. She was looking a lot more apprehensive than she had done during the earlier call, and Joseph wondered what the problem could be.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” Belle sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I just need someone to talk to who’s not Rum but who knows what’s going on. Not that Rum’s not being great about the whole thing, but I… I’m just so scared that I’m going to hurt him somehow, that the entity’s going to get out and do something to him whilst we’re in such close proximity. We’ve got no idea what it wants and I don’t want to put him in danger, but at the same time, being with him makes me feel safe and it seems to make the entity calm down a bit.”

She took a deep breath. “Sorry, that was a long speech.”

“It’s best to get it off your chest,” Joseph said. “I wish I knew what to say to reassure you. This isn’t anything like anything I’ve come across before, so I can’t draw on years of experience to predict how it’s all going to go down.” He paused. “That wasn’t at all reassuring, was it?”

Belle gave a little huff of laughter. “Not really, no. But honesty’s always appreciated. I didn’t really come looking for reassurance, I just needed to get it off my chest, and I think you can understand why I didn’t want to go to Rum with it. I’m so grateful to him for everything he’s done, and I couldn’t bear it if something happened to him because of it.”

“Yes, I understand. You know, I’m only ever on the other end of the phone if you do want to talk about things with someone who’s not Gold. I mean, not always on Skype as there’s five hours between us, but I’ll give you my phone number. You can call any time.”

Belle smiled.

“Thank you. It means a lot. I’m so used to not talking to anyone about this for fear that they’ll think I’m crazy, but there have been times in the past where I think I’ll explode with the pressure of keeping it all inside. It’s good to know that there are people I can trust and talk to about it. Having you and Rum here reminds me that I’m not alone and I don’t have to face this horrible thing on my own.”

“We’re here for you,” Joseph reassured her. “We might not be able to do much, but we’re here.”

“Thank you. I’m really very grateful for you agreeing to help out with this considering you don’t do it as a job anymore.” She tailed off, biting her lip in anxiety. “Joseph, can I ask a personal question?”

Joseph nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Why did you leave the priesthood?”

Joseph looked down at the keyboard. He knew that his history couldn’t be swept under the rug forever, and he knew that Belle deserved to know what she was getting herself into by accepting his assistance. All the same, he had still hoped that this moment of revelation would never come to pass.

“I didn’t leave,” he said. “I was defrocked.”

“Pardon?”

“I was fired, basically.”

“Oh.” Belle didn’t seem too taken aback by the revelation. “Why? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I made a mistake.” Joseph sighed, leaning back against the sofa and staring up at the ceiling. He could remember the day as clearly as if it were yesterday, and he would likely always remember it so vividly. It wasn’t something that would ever fade, let alone hold any hope of leaving him alone entirely. “There was a case I was working on, it was after I’d come back to England, I was working alone at the time. There was a young woman with a possession. It was a particularly tricky one, but I was determined that she wasn’t going to suffer with this thing anymore.”

It was so similar to Belle’s case, now that he thought about it. Belle’s entity and the malevolent spirit that had possessed the other victim were infinitely different, but the circumstances were almost the same. A young woman at her wits’ end, whom Joseph had been so determined to help.

“The church had said that it was too risky a case for an exorcism and they were going to send in a specialist from the Vatican to help, but it kept getting delayed and so I went ahead and performed it by myself. They were right; it was too risky. The young lady went into shock and died; there wasn’t anything I could do to save her.”

“Oh Joseph, that’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am. Even if they hadn’t kicked me out of the church, I don’t know that I would have gone back to investigating after that. I think the only reason that Gold came to me for help with your case in the first place was that he knows I have an extensive library of knowledge when it comes to possessions like yours. If you’d rather I kept away from it now that you know what happened the last time I investigated something like this, then I can quite appreciate that.”

Belle shook her head.

“No. You’ve been so invaluable to the case. I trust you, Joseph. You were doing what you had to in order to help that woman, and I know that you’re doing what you have to in order to help me, too.”

She smiled, a faint little smile with hardship weighing heavy on it, but a smile of genuine gratitude nonetheless. “Thank you so much for all your hard work and everything that you’ve done for me. I know it must be difficult for you after what happened last time.”

Joseph smiled, touched that her faith in him remained unwavering despite the revelations.

“You’re welcome, Belle.”

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Belle French #Joseph Macavoy #Mr Gold #Fic: The Darkness Within

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horizon99krp-blog · 6 years

Photo

– KILLJOYS, MAKE SOME NOISE –

PLUTONIUM, a PROTO has been spotted on the edges of Horizon99 ! Identified as ARES FURYAN TENEBRIS DARKEN, they have been living as a SCAVENGER for some time now, recognized for holding no loyalties in this wasteland. They were created 7 years ago, designed to look 24 years old, with a tendency to act abrasive, arrogant, flirtatious, and lethal. Unfortunately they are unregistered, with an operating license number of 2445900.

Real question now is… how will they react when the whole sky falls ?

PULL THE PIN AND LET THIS WORLD EXPLODE, GIVE US MORE DETONATION

abrasive on purpose, the war machine is every sort of sun-scorched patch of hell made available to him, his programming only able to account partial responsibility for his indefinite attitude, the sparks of independent intelligence having infested his circuitry since well before he is able to remember. he draws himself a portrait and then detonates inside of it, chaotic and arrogant and furious, the rage of his temper rivalling that of the tumultuous sandstorms that devastate the valley of slaughter occasionally. he enjoys battles, enjoys the stakes, the adrenaline, the flames, even when he can’t afford the risk involved, takes the blade point to the chest anyway; damn the consequences.

his ego is only slightly offset by an unexpected amount of charm, a flirtatious inclination heralded by fragments of a past life he only vaguely knows snippets about, the flashes of memories haunting him, snapping at his heels like dogs. he knows he worked in the sex trade, knows he was created to be aesthetically pleasing, anatomically correct, uses that to his advantage as often as possible, adheres himself to people’s weakest sides. despite how often he fights, despite how volatile his temper colors him, he finds flirting to be just as amusing.

THE FUTURE IS BULLETPROOF, THE AFTERMATH IS SECONDARY

PROLOGUE

the compound is a matte grey blotch against the wasteland skyline, a discoloration inverted against the pale, beige settings, standing unnatural in the blazing light, a large makeshift tent with no means of camoflauge, no cover of concealment, each corner jutting out offensively. either in daytime or under stars, the monstrosity sits, an obscene eyesore shifting a few miles here and there depending on the weather, the stakes ripped up from the gravel, the motors carrying it to whichever location suits it best for nefarious dealings, the insides seething with slime, with dust, with sin. screaming and wailing and pleading, women moaning and begging, men crying and yelling, gunshots and subsequent thuds of heavy objects ( bodies colliding into the sands and melting away into oblivion ) can be heard echoing from its creases at all hours of the night, and for a long time only the desert winds pull at the sound, only the hills absorb this travesty, the structure too far away from the city cybernetics, too distanced from helpful hands.

human and proto trafficking is a trade as old as the devil himself, dirty dealings done in clubside lounges translating into a hundred plus sentient lifeforms crammed into a space only meant for half that, feed an amount only meant a quarter of that. there is not enough for survival on horizon as it is, they say, the words always preceding an idea of some sort of purge ( which of course would never involve anyone with enough coin to pay ).

but a shadow falls over the door of the establishment, tall and lean and vengeful, with wings made from heavy machine guns, the barrels all adjusted and wired for pinprick accuracy, because the sky isn’t the only one with eyes out here in the valley of slaughter, the sun is not the only thing that burns. he carries the scent of a wolvern threaded into his clothing, a massive hide spread across his shoulders; he carries knives and bullets and a merciless vigor, an unquenchable aggression, a haunting grin that splits his face in two like a horror story, eyes red like a hungry sunset, the vulture in his chest starving for death. he bares the name of an ancient god of war, half mythos, half bloodlust, every inch of him a history divined from fades pages, a hoax perhaps at first, but now interwoven into the metallic core of him; he is a machine and a god, sent from heaven, sent from hell, sent from every holy nightmare you don’t want to remember.

the grin morphs into a grimace as his teeth clench, his fists tighten, the inhuman rage rippling through him as he shatters the door off its shitty hinges, crippling the entrance, breaking inside the edifice to lay siege to its protectors, to wreak havoc on their operations. he rains hails of bullets and sharp edges over the slavers, the destruction and mayhem nothing short of a bomb exploding inside these corners, human degradations meeting the war machine within their last couple of breaths before he rips their lungs out, their tongues and limbs and shredded pistols strewn useless across the floor by the end of it.

later, when the dislodged people spill from their confines, humans and protos clawing for the scraps of life alike, a woman grasps his wrist in gratitude, falls on her shaking knees, kisses him praises, crowns him glorious, but he just looks down at her, crimson eyes glowing in the yawning dusk atmosphere, watching this soft, breakable, fleshy thing of a creature, and chuckles, “i didn’t do it for you.”

FILES STORED // WHAT HE DOES REMEMBER

001. the first time he kills a wovern is the first time he realizes why the gang is named after them and why he wears a leather jacket with the predators engraved on it; they are not easy to slay. even for something like him. the city of fyrestone is not foolish for having decided that running is honestly the best course of action in the face of these beasts. by the second kill, he begins to share attributes to their combat style; all teeth and jagged edges, claws and snarls and the absolute certainty of a massacre.

002. the underdome is both a lot easier and a lot more difficult than fighting in the flesh fair, depending on the day, the mooncycle, the rate of popularity, and the chaos in the crowd. also whether or not they’ve heard his name before, whether or not he’s a fan favorite or just death’s favorite, whether or not he makes the kill interesting enough to distract his audience away from everything else he’s trying to accomplish.

003. mad lacie likes when he wears high heels and fishnets, likes when he comes to her begging for a treatment, begging for a booster, whether he can afford it or not, likes when he dooms himself with every gulp of adrenaline, to save a heart not worth saving. so he does.

004. they tell him his heart is not worth saving and it sits and beats on the right side of his chest and he thinks about cutting it out sometimes while the moons hang high and the winds howl longingly in his ears, the wastelands spanning out forever. it beats and beats and beats, and he knows it’s breaking.

005. when he wakes up in the shop, tora, the gang’s leader, is standing over him, the scars on his face making him even uglier than the personality he’d implanted into his pet war machine, and when ares asks what happened, he explains it all in that rough, sanded voice of his, gruff, curt, biting. “when that keg exploded, a lot of our people were caught in the crossfire. we lost sirien, vaager, seulgi, minnie… and isbin.” all the words in the universe dry up and die inside ares’ throat, the sun shades into greys, all sounds sink down into the ground, as a cold numbness floods through his bones; a feeling he’s not experienced before. “that’s his heart right there,” tora points down to ares’ open chest, the mechanical ribs outstretched to present the half human heart pumping as though it belongs there.

“he was alive…” ares blinks down at it, dumbfounded. “he was alive when i shut down. i saw him.”

“he was,” a hardened look filters through tora’s gaze, something ares has come to understand as either a lie or a half truth about to spit out from his snake-like lips. “but then he died. and you needed a heart replacement.”

“he died before i needed the replacement?”

“what?”

“did he die first and then you took his heart to put in me?” suddenly the room stills, the air around them and the mechanic standing off to the side becomes dense with intensity. achingly, suffocatingly, ares’ pitch black eyes pin themselves to the flesh and bone man in front of him, his master by most accounts, the question pointed at him like a knife. “or did you see that i needed a heart… and then you…. took it…?”

006. isbin’s eyes remind ares of the sky, remind him of the greenhouses in the city, remind him of a flower blooming somewhere off the edge of the world, a droplet of flora surviving amidst the smog and smoke choking the tall buildings and all their inhabitants. isbin is much smaller than him and gets cold once the sun disappears, so he crawls over to where ares keeps watch over the camp and just curls up against his side, staring up at the stars until he drifts off. he talks to ares sometimes, despite tora’s scoldings, and tells him they are like brothers. ares doesn’t understand the word. not yet.

007. wolverns are fast and sharp and arduous to slay, larger than life and darker than the space between stars, caught between a warning and a legend, their bodies hardwired to withstand against claws and pressures and rippage. but humans are not; humans are soft, humans are delicate, destructible, fragile– loud as they die, screaming and bleeding, they’re voices howling into the empty winds as ares slices through to the cores of them, cutting open muscle and sinew and tendon.

like every other wolvern in this valley, he slaughters his gang, leaves no one alive, leaves no bones uncrushed, no blood unspoilt, no fragment of his gang’s campsite undefiled; he makes himself a hurricane and this is his new legacy, this is his new catastrophic wake, the demon he molds himself into.

he’s still dripping with their blood when he finds what’s left of isbin’s body and buries him under a mound of barren stones, calls it a funeral.

008. they don’t tell him why they are putting him in the dumpster, don’t answer any of his questions, don’t even look at him as they do it, just tell him to stay, to wait, to wait, to wait– and he does. waits as the sun drops, the moons spiraling, waits as scents collect around him, more trash, other scraps of protos, and it’s wrong somehow because he knows he is not scrap. he is fine, he is whole, and he is waiting.

009. taking too much of the booster will kill his heart. taking too little of the booster will let the heart die. all life is good for is fucking and fighting at this stage.

010. protos can’t cry, or at least most of them can’t; they aren’t built with tear ducts in their eyes since that wouldn’t serve a purpose for a functioning robot, wouldn’t play well into the narrative of protos unable to experience the same level of emotions as humans. humans can cry. but protos can only speak, can only shout, can only scream.

so he does.

FILES CORRUPTED // WHAT HE CAN’T RECALL

001. his life before faceless men put him in a dumpster, the disordered tragedy of sights and sounds, touches and burning, some sort of ache deep in the center of him that he can’t quite name.

002. how many battles has he fought now? how many has he lost?

003. how long does he lose himself in the wasteland these days, each pilgrimage to and from the city becoming more and more rare, his interest in the menagerie hinging on a small few between its walls? at what point will he grow tired of flirting with strangers, death-defying, bullet-biting? how much will be too much? where is the alleyway he will be sauntering through when his heart inevitably cracks and shatters inside his ribcage?

004. the body belonging to a voice he hears echoing through his dreams sometimes when he shuts down.

005. do protos dream?

#99: accepted #kim jongin

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