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sour--disposition · 3 years

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Take Me By The Hand

harry lewis x fem!reader

requested: Heyy, could you do the ‘take my hand’ concept that you did with JJ, but with Harry?? Love your writing sm! Xxx

please see my pinned post for masterlist and request info!

One taking the others hand to help them up

You were 4 when you first met Harry properly. You’d been running around the playground, chasing after one of your friends when you’d taken a tumble and ended up in a small heap on the floor. Harry had come trotting over, sticking out a hand to help you up.

“Is your knee okay?”, he asked you.

“I don’t think so. It’s bleeding”, you told him sadly.

Harry kept hold of your hand, dragging you over to where the teachers on duty were standing. “She hurt her knee”, Harry said bluntly, poking one of the adults and then pointing to your knee.

Harry followed you and the teacher inside, sitting next to you as you had your knee cleaned and a plaster stuck on. The teacher left to fill in the accident book and write a note for you to take home. “I’m Harry”, the boy said as soon as she’d left.

“I’m Y/N”, you told him with a bright grin.

“Shall we be best friends?”, Harry asked with a toothy smile.

“Yes!”.

Holding hands whilst one walks on a small wall

You and Harry had stayed best friends from that day forward. There wasn’t anything that you didn’t do together. Harry would always be the first person you’d turn to whenever anything was wrong. He held your hand through every trip you took to the first aid room in your primary school and he shouldered his way through to sit next to you whenever you were in a classroom together.

Harry asked you out on your first date when you were both 15. You’d gone to his house after school, pestering him until he did his homework before you let him outside. He’d been pacing around the lawn in front of you, completely distracted from his kickaround with Josh, as you sat on the deck with Rosie.

“What’s wrong with him?”, she asked from beside you.

“I have no idea”, you told her. “You know what he’s like though”, you dismissed, all the while worrying about your best friend.

Rosie and Josh ran inside 20 minutes later to help set the table for dinner, leaving you and Harry alone in the back garden. “Are you gonna tell me what’s up with you?”, you asked him.

“Do you wanna go on a date?”, Harry blurted, leaving you stunned. The two of you were wide-eyed in surprise, both with words caught in your throat that you were desperately trying to say.

“Yeah”, you smiled.

A week later you met Harry by the beach. You’d seen each other through the week during school and spending the evenings after school together, but this evening felt different. This evening would be the one that potentially changed yours and Harry’s relationship forever.

You walked side by side down to the sea front, stopping and sitting on a small wall there. The two of you talked for hours, like you always did. Harry telling you about his family, about what happened in the few classes that you didn’t share together, telling you about his day and you returning the favour. You laughed well into the sunset, a soft silence falling over you as you watched the sun dip beneath the Guernsey horizon.

“It’s getting dark, and it’s cold. Let’s head back”, Harry suggested. As soon as you’d stood up, you stepped up onto the wall you’d just been sitting on, making you ever so slightly taller than Harry. With your arms held out for balance, you took a few tentative steps.

Harry reached out, grabbing your hand to keep you steady. You looked over to him, a shy smile on his face that you soon mirrored, paired with a rosy blush. Harry kept your hands entwined as you walked along the wall, matching his pace with yours so he didn’t rush you and cause you to stumble.

When you reached the end of the wall and jumped down, your hand didn’t leave Harry’s.

Holding hands whilst driving

Harry had never let whatever Youtube success he was gaining get in the way of the two of you. He always made time for you, always made you feel important. As soon as he’d learnt to drive and got a car, you and Harry would spend hours traversing the coastline, wind pouring into the window and billowing through your hair as you watched the cliffs and waves pass you by.

If you were in his car, Harry would insist on you being in the passenger seat, no matter who else was joining you. His hand would always rest on your thigh as he drove, only ever moving to change gear before quickly returning to its place.

Your fingers were wrapped loosely in his, making sure he was able to let go and reach for the gear stick whenever he needed to. The roads along the coastline were fairly straight, only ever bending slightly and no sharp turns in sight.

With the road empty bar from the two of you, Harry snuck a glance over to you. Your face was illuminated by the soft glow of the sun, hair windswept against the headrest and over your shoulders.

“I love you”, Harry said simply. It was no massive declaration, it didn’t have to be. You and Harry had been friends for 13 years, together for nearly 2. He’d loved you for as long as he could remember.

“I love you, too”.

Possessive hand holding

The first time you visited Harry in London was quite the nerve wracking experience. Aside from helping him move his stuff into his flat with Lux and Freezy, you’d barely seen him since he’d left the small island you both called home.

You waited by baggage claim, leg shaking with restless, nervous energy. It was just your luck that your suitcase was one of the last to make its way through and round the conveyor belt, the hall almost empty by the time you’d got your belongings.

Harry was waiting for you just outside arrivals, just as restless and nervous as you were. His eyes had been glued to the door from the minute you’d text him to let you know you’d reached baggage claim. Every person that walked out of the sliding doors that wasn’t you irritated him even further. It had only been a few weeks since he’d last seen you, and he was going mad.

At last, you trudged through the doors, looking a little worse for wear and incredibly pissed off. But you were there.

Harry wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest. “I’ve missed you so much”, he whispered into your hair. “The guys are already at my place, I hope that’s alright”, he told you. “They’re really excited to meet you”.

At Harry’s apartment building, he kept a tight hold on your hand as he led you upstairs. “Harry, it’s okay”, you assured him, squeezing his hand.

“Just nervous”, he told you.

Harry led you into the apartment, pausing for a second so you could drop your case by the door and kick your shoes off. His deathly tight grip on your hand never waned, like he was scared you were going to escape.

“Lads, Y/N”, Harry said awkwardly as he led you through the doorway. “Y/N, both of the Cals, Ethan, JJ, Simon, Josh, Tobi and Vik”, he introduced, pointing to each man in turn as he said their names.

“Nice to meet you”, you smiled happily.

You sat next to Harry on the sofa, squeezed up against his side. His hand was still gripping onto yours, squeezing tighter whenever any of the guys started to talk to you. “Harry”, you whispered, wiggling your fingers in his grip. “What’s wrong?”.

“Someone looks a little jealous if you ask me”, Freezy poked, wicked grin shooting across the living room.

“Oh, give over”, you scoffed, flicking Harry in the chest. “You buffoon. There’s nothing to worry about. Now ease up, you’re cutting off blood flow to my fingers”, you teased.

Rubbing their thumb over the other’s hand

“I don’t wanna leave”, you sighed, leaning further into Harry’s chest. “I miss you too much”, you whispered.

“I miss you, too”, he told you, wrapping both arms around your body and pulling you closer.

Harry watched over your shoulder as you opened your phone and pulled up flight times for a few weeks time, scrolling through them to find the cheapest option. Seeing Harry as often as possible was taking its toll on your finances and Harry knew you’d only accept so much help from him.

“What if this was the last time you flew home?”, Harry asked into your hair.

“What do you mean?”, you asked, thumb pausing over the screen.

“I spoke to Cal about it the other day, before you came”, Harry started. “How would you feel about moving to London?”, he asked.

You turned in his arms, facing Harry. “Are you being serious?”, you asked, a blossoming grin eager to bloom over your face.

“As I’ve ever been”, he whispered.

3 weeks later, you waited at the gate in Guernsey airport, surrounded by your family. “I’m so happy for you”, your mum whispered as she pulled you in for a tight hug. When she pulled back, you were both laughing through the tears that had begun to shed. “You and Harry deserve to be happy”, she told you.

They watched and waved as you walked towards the flight bridge, knowing that this would be the last time they’d see you for a while. You sat in your seat, watching as Guernsey got smaller and smaller below you. Although leaving home was never going to be an easy thing, you knew that you could build a home wherever Harry was.

You’d already shipped a lot of your stuff over to Harry, leaving you only to bring a large suitcase with you on your flight. You had no idea what to expect when you arrived, whether your stuff would be in Harry’s room or boxes strewn into whatever corner of the apartment they could fit into.

“Here”, Harry said as you sat in the car in the car park outside of the apartment building. He handed you a key on a keyring. “House keys”, he told you.

“Thank you”, you smiled

Harry pulled your case behind you as you walked up to the apartment. You stilled in front of the door, Harry pulling to a stop next to you. “Are you okay?”, Harry asked, voice filled with concern.

“Yeah”, you assured him quietly. “It’s just a lot, y’know”, you murmured.

“I know”. Harry’s thumb skimmed across the back of your hand in a soft, repetitive, soothing pattern. “I love you”, he reminded you, thumb never halting its soft reassurance against your skin.

“I know”, you smiled up at him. “But I love you more”.

Unconsciously searching for the other’s hand whilst asleep

If you were to ask Harry when he knew you’d be in his life forever, he’d have told you when the two of you were 5. Teasing from the other kids about you being best friends with each other was almost never-ending, but you and Harry always found a way to make light of it.

It wasn’t uncommon to see you and Harry playing with the dolls amongst the other little girls or racing around through the mud with the other boys. Everyone quickly learnt that where Harry went, you went and where you went, Harry went.

Harry knew you were going to be his bestest friend forever when he’d sat down on the grass to play and realised that there were no toys left. You’d come and sat down next to him and you’d played in the mud together, making daisy chains and mud pies and potions that you stirred with sticks, never caring about the dirt coating your pretty pinafore dress.

If you were to ask Harry when he knew that your relationship was meant to last, he would fumble and stumble over his words, not really knowing what to say. It was something that brought his friends great joy, asking what he saw in the future for the two of you. After all, you had been together since you were 15.

The night Harry realised you were his one great love was rather anti-climatic. There was no fireworks or mind-blowing kiss or Earth shattering sex. In fact, you were curled up asleep next to Harry, hair piled on top of your head and the hem of one of his Sidemen Clothing shirts riding up on your thigh.

He’d shut his computer down and gotten ready for bed, sliding in next to you as quietly as possible. Whilst he was lounging in bed next to you, attention focused on the screen of his phone, you’d started shifting beside him. Harry laid stock still, not wanting to wake you up with any movements.

Instead, you reached a hand across the bed, seemingly searching for something. When you couldn’t find whatever it was you were looking for, a frown settled itself onto your face. Harry was sure you were dreaming, but couldn’t resist closing the gap between your fingers and his.

The minute Harry hooked his fingers around yours, the frown on your face disappeared, replaced by a soft, blissful smile. Harry had known you long enough and knew you well enough to know that you were still fast asleep, the gentle sighs falling from your mouth being a dead giveaway.

So, if you asked Harry when he knew that your love was meant to last, he’d tell anyone that listened that it was the moment he realised you loved him even in your dreams.

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thenextchapter22 · 3 years

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Angel of the Three Realms

Description: You were an Angel who went to the human world to escape punishment for loving Lucifer only to be brought back into his life, this time in the Devildom where you pretend to be human.

Warnings: Unrequited Love, Angst, WIP

Pairing(s): Lucifer/Reader

Link to my AO3: Click Here

Author’s Notes: NEW CHAPTER! HAPPY DEVIL DAY!

Part One

_+_

You didn’t think he’d come, but there he was, beside your bed, comforting hand on your head. Your memories flashed back to when you were young, and he used to do the very same thing when you got hurt. He would pick you up, pat your head, hush your cries, and hold you in his warm arms. His wings encompassing you, the six white appendages like a warm blanket. There was a scent of light around him, fresh and bright like citrus, which always made you feel better.

More memories assaulted you, this one recalling the last time he had groomed your wings. It had to have been about 3 weeks before you decided to leave.

It was profound, the probability of having him touch you after all he now knew. You truly thought he would vanish from your life, too Prideful to see you. But he didn’t leave. He came to your side, despite how you lied to him. Lucifer was here to help you.

You felt tears well up but you kept them back, eyes burning and brimming salty wetness. You looked up at him through damp lashes and smiled.

He didn’t smile back, instead looked at your broken body with concerned eyes. “Why did you wait so long? How could you have let this happen? You know using so much Celestial Magic for so long is bound to crackle and cause extensive damage. How did you become even more reckless?”

You frowned at his sternly spoken questions. “I’m sorry. Forgive me… please…”

He sighed, and pet your hair gently. You leaned into it as best you could. “Hush, my dove. For now, let me help you, and we can worry about having that conversation later.”

The hand so sweetly caressing you disappeared. You held back a sob. You just wanted him to touch you, hold you, and you wanted him to know how much you loved him. How day after day being here was a struggle to not just burst out in tears and reveal the truth. Each time you were with him, every single time he even glanced at you, your emotions built up. Like a rapidly flowing and growing river, with a cracked dam of determination the only thing stopping it all from blasting open and drowning you and those all around you.

He sat at your hip, and you could not see his face. You hated it. “It’ll be painful, as you well know.” He paused, the silence overwhelming you. Then, he spoke softer, “Will you allow me to groom your wings?”

You felt like a child again, emotions so high and fragile. “Please,” you choked out.

“I see a lot of feathers tangled and some are coated in blood. Please don’t hesitate to tell me to stop if the pain is too great.”

And he began on your primary feathers first, plucking and tugging your wings, straightening some others along the way. It started off as a nice feeling, reminiscent of old times of having his methodical fingers smoothing your pure white wings. Now they were tattered and bloodied, and ugly.

“You’re doing so well. I’m almost done with this section, just relax.”

You sighed into your pillow, body light as air. There was not a lot of pain, only a little bit here and there as he worked to heal the mess you made of yourself. It wasn’t until he got to your secondary feathers, and closer to the bone that held them together, that you really began to feel true pain instead of tingles of it.

“A-ah, s-stop—hurts,” you panted. Your fingers gripped the bedsheets at either side of you, and your body trembled.

He put his hand over your hip and soothed it with his thumb. “Deep breaths, and stay still for me. You have a bundle of torn feathers I have to fix. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

You inhaled a shaky breath, and braced for the pain. When he tugged at the problem area, you bit back a scream. It was like a knife coated in fire stabbed you. He quickly soothed the area with his gentle hand, but it took a few minutes for your heart to return to its normal pace.

“Can I continue?” he asked.

“Please, I just want it to be done.”

He kept working, and what seemed like an hour passed by. You glanced over the side of the bed to see a pile of feathers, some misshapen, some red from blood, others totally bent. You saw a few bundles of them stuck together. What a terrible sight. Were you even an Angel, with these broken hideous wings? Had you even been one since falling from the skies?

Your heart was pounding and your eyes burning, and you swore if you ground your teeth any harder you might lose some. But you kept still, and made sure not to move your wings. Eventually, he sighed, and stood up.

“You did so well. I’m so proud of you.”

You looked up at him. He smiled, looking accomplished and happy to have helped you, his fingers coated in feather remnants, and your blood.

He was stunning, and it had you reacting passionately. “Lucifer!” you sobbed, reaching for him with one hand.

Thankfully, he reacted back just as you did. He sat closer to you, beside your head, and pulled you into his arms. Stroking the back of your neck with his thumb, soothing and wonderfully warm. “We’re all done now. You can rest. Shhh, stop crying now, little dove, it’s all right.”

When he called you ‘Dove’ for the first time, you thought your cover was blown. He never called you that in the Celestial Realm, but it was indicative of an Angelic nickname, as doves had pure white wings as Angel’s did. But perhaps there was just a part of him that thought it was you, but didn’t ever realize who you actually were. The nickname never failed to make your heart stutter.

He helped you lay on your side more comfortably, your wings spread out behind you. They were sore and stiff but you felt immensely better. The urge to fall into a deep sleep was great, but you simply couldn’t do that just yet. Not with him right here, openly holding you, caressing you and comforting you.

Lucifer must have read your mind, because he said, “You need to sleep.”

Sleep meant him going away and you didn’t want to wake up and find him gone. “No, don’t leave.”

He hushed you, wiping your teary cheeks as he smiled sweetly at you. His red eyes were so kind, the exact opposite of what eyes of such an ‘evil’ color would be. “I won’t leave you. I swore to never leave you.” He frowned. “Just don’t…” he bit his lip, and looked away, “…don’t leave me…”

Hearing him, the Prideful Lucifer, say such emotional words meant the world to you, and you knew that look he gave meant even more. He truly cared about you.

You grabbed his hand, Lucifer peering down at you with pink tinted cheeks, and you smiled brightly, cheeks hurting and eyes squinted. “I want to stay with you.” The ‘forever’ was left unsaid.

A strained looking smile, and he flicked your forehead with his forefinger and thumb, it only stung for a second but still. You pouted. He chuckled. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.”

With the hope that he would still be there, you slipped into dreamland.

#reader x lucifer #mc x lucifer #shall we date obey me #obey me #obey me fanfic #shall we date obey me fanfic #obey me lucifer #shall we date #swd #swd om #om #obey me fanfiction #shall we date obey me fanfiction #my fics #wingfic

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charliejrogers · 4 years

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The Trial of the Chicago 7 (Or, Sorkin’s attempt to show you how nothing has changed in 52 years)

If you know anything about Aaron Sorkin, the much-acclaimed writer/creator of television shows like The West Wing, The Newsroom, you know that subtlety is not his strong suit. So, I was rather hesitant going into his newest film, The Trial of the Chicago 7, the infamous trial of eight gentlemen accused of conspiracy to incite violence/rioting in Chicago during the notorious 1968 DNC riots. Without diving too deep into the history, August 1968 was not Chicago’s finest hour. When the protesters chanted as a warning to the police, “The Whole World Is Watching!”, they weren’t wrong. Years ahead of the 24-hour news cycle, people all across America (and across the world) were glued to the TV watching the Chicago police beat the ever-living snot out of young folks protesting the Democratic Party’s decision to support the ever-controversial war in Vietnam. The film’s subject matter is sure to draw parallels to and resonate strongly with both the protests and civil unrest that took place this past summer following the death of George Floyd and countless other Black folk at the hands of police. So despite it’s appropriate timeliness, I was hesitant to watch this movie because I really wasn’t interested in watching Aaron Sorkin (who not only wrote but directed this film) try to mansplain to me that the trial of the Chicago 7 was all about injustice! Without knowing anything else about the trial beforehand (and I really didn’t), I already knew it’s a famous case of injustice. I wanted to watch the movie to learn about the people, the humans involved, and the nuance of the situation.

The film gets off to a rough start in the nuance department. After an effective montage introducing us to six of the eight members of the Chicago 7 (we’ll get to why there’s that numerical discrepancy), we meet the character who will be the lead prosecutor of the case: a straight-laced, clean-cut lawyer played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt. In an attempt to plant the seed early on that the eponymous trial is a sham, the first real scene of the film sees Gordon-Levitt meeting with Nixon’s newly appointment Attorney General John Mitchell who is pissed off that the prior AG didn’t resign from the office until an hour before Mitchell was confirmed. As retaliation, and in line with history’s understanding of Nixon’s pathologic paranoia, Mitchell decides to re-open the case exploring whether there was any conspiracy to incite riots in Chicago 1968. As JGL explains, this was something which Johnson’s AG as well as prior FBI investigations already decided did was not a viable case. The conversation that ensues is a little too on-the-nose. JGL shares his concerns that he doesn’t believe that the Chicago 7 are actually guilty, but Mitchell tells JGL, “then imagine how impressed I’ll be when you get a conviction.”

Of course, this conversation is largely a Sorkin invention, as is the weird decision to try to humanize the prosecutor played by Gordon-Levitt. I say "weird" because the film doesn’t do anything with it. We don’t get a real sense beyond that initial scene that JGL feels guilt or remorse for being a cog in the Nixon machine. The beginning of the film sets him up to be a similar character to David Schwimmer’s fascinating turn as Robert Kardashian in The People vs. O.J. Simpson. But in the end, it’s clear that Sorkin uses him just as a way in the beginning of the film to provide the thesis statement for the film, as if he were writing this script as a college term paper. This bothers me so much because it makes a late-film surprise appearance by Michael Keaton as Johnson’s AG lose a good deal of its impact. It would have been so much better if we as the audience came to the same revelation about the political origin of the trial at the same time that the defense lawyers did.

Sorkin’s lack of subtlety reared its ugly head in a few key moments that caused me to audibly groan while watching this film. Towards the end of the film, one of the more dramatic defendants, the merry prankster hippie Abbie Hoffman (played very well by Sacha Baron Cohen), is on the stand and is asked a particularly difficult question by the prosecution. He pauses. The prosecution asks what’s taking so long. Hoffman responds in a serious tone that runs opposite of his usual character, “Sorry, I’ve never been on trial for my thoughts before.” The film then slowly fades to black. I half-expected to hear the famous Law & Order “chun-chunn” sound next. That’s how cheesy and self-righteous the scene was.

The film’s ending too, where the defendants read off a list of all the fallen soldiers from Vietnam prior to their sentencing, felt a little too Hollywood to be believable… and indeed it didn’t happen that way. Elsewhere in the film, one of the more “prim and proper” defendants, the young head of the Students for a Democratic Society Thomas Hayden played by Eddie Redmayne, reflexively stands in honor of the judge’s exit as is court custom, forgetting that he and the rest of the defendants agreed not to stand. That’s not the bad part. The bad part comes later when Redmayne’s character travels to someone’s home and the Black maid who answers the door says to him, “I heard you were the only one to stand for the judge,” and then the camera just sorta lingers on her disappointment. We get it! The judge is a bad dude! Let’s move on!

Seriously, let’s move on. For all my griping, this is a very good movie. Those instances where Sorkin’s moral heavy-handedness is plain to see are so glaring because for the most part, the movie does a fantastic job of addressing the film’s (sadly still) politically controversial themes (police brutality, the culpability of protesters in starting riots, systemic racism, etc.) with a good deal of nuance. This mostly happens when Sorkin just sticks to the facts of the case, like when dealing with the whole saga of Bobby Seale, the eighth and only Black man of the Chicago 7. The day before the trial begins, Seale's lawyer required emergent surgery. Seale’s motion to have the trial postponed till he receive proper counsel is denied, as is his request to represent himself. Therefore, on trial without counsel, he frequently interrupts the court arguing about the unconstitutional nature of his trial, until the judge, played to chilling perfection by Frank Langella, becomes fed up with the interruptions and orders that Seale be bound, gagged, and chained to his chair. It’s a crazy powerful and uncomfortable scene, among the most haunting images I’ve seen in cinema. Finally, Seale’s case is determined to be a mistrial, changing the number of defendants from eight to seven. Hence, the Chicago 7.

But, the most inspired sequence of the film comes late in the movie when the defense gets wind of the prosecution’s plan to play a recording from the night of the riots where the prim and proper Tom Hayden can be (arguably) heard urging hundreds of listeners to “let blood flow all over the city.” Tom still believes that he would do well on the witness stand, but his defense lawyer (Mark Rylance as William Kuntsler) insists on showing him why this would be a bad idea. The ensuing scene sees Rylance role play the part of the prosecution cross-examining Hayden while the film intercuts scenes of a flashback of the actual events. the “truth” of that night, significantly muddies the water for this case. It by no means proves that the Chicago 7 are guilty of a conspiracy, but it certainly highlights the more human aspect of their situation. How is one expected to keep their calm when their best friend is beaten? And to what degree are people to be held responsible for decisions made in the heat of the moment?

The movie also has also interesting commentary on who should be the “face” or progressive politics, even today: the well-to-do and respectable Hayden or the in-your-face hippie comedian Hoffman? It’s an interesting question that never seems fully explored or resolved. Sorkin seems to land in the camp that Hayden’s respectability merely maintains status quo whereas Hoffman’s flagrant anti-establishment views is required for real change. But I don’t know how much of that is me just loving Cohen’s performance as Hoffman and finding Redmayne’s Hayden to be (appropriately) insufferably pretentious. Sorkin certainly gives Cohen the better lines.

Overall, this is a movie held up by its two primary strengths: its cast and its film structure. Aside from general inconsistencies of the script’s tone and the notable weakness I mentioned previously about overplaying the political motivation for the trial in the film's first 5 minutes, the film is nearly perfectly structured. We are sort of dropped in medias res into the trial and only get the facts of those few days shown to us in carefully placed flashbacks that help to flesh out the drama of the trial. It helps maintain pacing in what could have been a drag of a legal drama.

But really, it’s the cast and their performances that sell this movie. Sacha Baron Cohen is the star in my mind, so perfectly cast as Abbie Hoffman, but Frank Langella as the septuagenarian, prejudiced judge of the case is equally powerful. Yahya Abdul-Manteen II as the Black Panther Bobby Seale lends an air of desperate seriousness to the film, Eddie Redmayne shines as that white liberal dude who takes himself way too seriously, and Mark Rylance is wonderful as the courageous lead defense attorney, particularly in scenes dealing with Bobby Seale. While the whole trial weighs on him heavily as the film progresses, his genuine concern for Seale is palpable.

I spent much of this review telling you the things that were odd about this film, and I stand by that. But as I said, those things stand out because this is such a slick production that the cracks become that much more obvious. It largely avoids Sorkin’s penchant for blunt lack of nuance and offers a story that helps to greatly contextualize the very world we live in. It’s interesting that a story that sees ten men (including their lawyers) fail to win a fight against The Man still feels like an inspiring underdog tale. It resonated well with this viewer, especially as the ending makes clear that justice is eventually served. Yet, I recognize this may be a dangerous tale to tell these days, and why I think the movie is so successful is that it gives plenty of sobering evidence to suggest that justice (both then and now) is by no means guaranteed.

***/ (Three and a half out of four stars)

#trial of the chicago 7 #aaron sorkin #sacha baron cohen

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haikyuuscreaming · 4 years

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hi um so no one requested this but like i went through something basically like this and cried a whole lot about it and i dont think its even that angsty or makes sense but i just barfed it up as a vent fic so haha funny imi’s stupid and writes about her emotional exhaustion as an x reader

heres an unrequited iwaizumi x reader :D (SORRY THIS ISNT FDSKFJ this isnt really a tumblr drabbles its more of an ao3 oneshot so)

(also sorry if none of the fic makes sense or flows well,,, i just wanted to get this out)

Ever since your first day at Kitagawa Daiichi, you found yourself with a crush on Iwaizumi Hajime.

You couldn’t help it. As soon as you saw him in your school-orientation group the week before school started, you couldn’t help but feel something more than a friendly glow. You were already sitting with your orientation group, but once you saw him join the group (albeit sort of late), your stomach practically flipped with butterflies.

He even sat down next to you.

The rest of the orientation went more than fine. Your delight when Iwaizumi started conversations with you was absolutely immeasurable. Even when your group was performing normal get-to-know-you activities, your heart seemed to race every time he made eye contact with you.

“Your name’s [Surname] [Name], right?” Iwaizumi asked, tapping his pencil against his desk. The orientation paper had asked for the names of three people in your group.

“Yeah.. and you’re Iwaizumi Hajime…?” You didn’t really need to question it, but you did so anyway to be polite.

“Mhm. Uh-- sorry, how do you spell your name?” Your heart picked up its pace once you heard him attempt to spell it out. To your feeble, gleeful surprise, he spelled it right.

“Oh! Um, that’s actually how you spell it. Thanks.”

“No problem.” He smiles at you and your seventh grade self felt like beaming brighter.

His impression on you had lasted.

In fact, that first impression on you had made your school year much better somehow.

Initially, you wanted to go to Yukigaoka with your best friends, but you ended up getting into Kitagawa Daiichi. You were miserable at the prospect of going into a school without your best friends that had been with you through thick and thin, but you lit up once you saw your schedule and found you had quite a few classes with Iwaizumi.

Throughout middle school, you made new friends and became close with Iwaizumi and his friend Oikawa Tooru. They eventually became one of your primary friend groups: you and them. Your number one best friend though, you found, was a new friend you made, Hanae.

Maybe the first mistake you made was telling her that you had a crush on Iwaizumi.

Okay, well, you didn’t tell her- she found out? Forced it out of you? Either way, not a big deal, you two are basically sisters now. But you did kind of wish she would stop mentioning it so much.

“Look, [Name]-chan~” she would always laugh and point at him discreetly whenever he was in the vicinity. “It’s your future boyfriend.”

It was always the same, every time.

“Would you shut up,” you complain, smacking her shoulder lightly which earned a laugh from her. “He could be listening!”

“Just telling the truth~” Hanae would always flash a smile back.

Things changed, though.

On a hang-out with Iwaizumi and Oikawa, you noticed their glances at each other-- Iwaizumi's being weary, while Oikawa’s was cheeky and sly.

“Hey, what are you two smiling about now?” you laugh lightly. The varied stares they gave you made you quiet down. “No, seriously, are you keeping secrets?”

“Of course not,” Oikawa chimes in. “Iwa-chan has big news though!”

Your heart rate spikes a little bit and you feel sweat beading on the back of your neck. And you're blushing too. Under Iwaizumi's warm, sharp gaze, you feel like melting under his radiance. “Eh? Haji, spit it out!!” Your anxiety falsely passes off as intrigue and excitement.

Flushing a little bit, Iwaizumi scratches his neck and smiles at you, “I wanted you to be the second to know, I have a girlfriend.”

…

You're shell-shocked.

If Oikawa picks up on it, he doesn't say so. “Seeee, [Name]-chan, I know we didn't believe it, but Iwa-chan finally snatched himself a girl!” Iwaizumi responds with a swift punch to the gut.

“I….” you can't find the words. You force yourself to smile like it's the only thing you can do. “Haji, that’s amazing!! Who is it? I didn't even know you had a crush…” Your voice falters but you push your words out as if your life depended on it. How did you manage to sound so genuinely happy when it felt like your entire world was about to crash?

Iwaizumi flushes again and you feel jealousy seep in. You so wish it was you that he blushes for. “Haha, yeah. Oikawa didn't know either for once; I didn't tell anyone, you know? Wasn't really sure yet. But it’s Aika-chan.” The way his face lights up burns a hole in your heart.

He even uses -chan for her. How special. The bitter envy feels like acid rising in your throat, and you feel queasy. Like you could keel over, cry, and puke out your guts.

“Ohhh, Aika-san is cute,” you make yourself say.

(Honestly, you're so good at lying and saying this wrong but right bullshit, you’d think you're a sociopathic robot or something.)

“Mmm… don't get jealous though, [Name]-chan, you're cuter!” Oikawa hums and you laugh loudly, hoping that you'll fake it till you make it. “Tell her how it happened, Iwa-chan. It was hilaaarious.”

The poison in you burns harsher but you nod along.

“Don't tell me what to do, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi bites almost playfully, before meeting your blank gaze with his kind, gently blazing eyes that always made you weak. Right now, you were not weak in the good way. “Aika-chan confessed to me yesterday near the sakura tree after we had class together… and I don't know, I guess it really clued me in that the feelings I had were real.”

(Iwaizumi looks so happy and content that it makes you want to be happy too, but you honestly feel like doing nothing but crying.)

“Aww, that's so sweet~” Your voice gets softer and you hate yourself so much for sounding weak.

But before either boy can reply, the panic and agony sets in. You feel your eyes glass up and your body tense, and your mind is begging you not to break down.

Unfortunately, they both notice.

“[Name]-chan? Are you okay?? You look kinda sick~” Oikawa sounds cheery and playful but his eyes convey an undercurrent of worry.

And bless Iwaizumi’s stupidly handsome oblivion, he blinks at your worriedly and puts a hand on your shoulder to steady you. “Do you need to go to the nurse? School’s still open I think, and it's right around the corner-”

Fuck him and his mind-meltingly handsome everything. Just his voice and his sharp gaze makes you want to cry harder and collapse to him.

“I-I have to go, sorry guys,” You fucking despise how cracked your voice is becoming as your facade slips. “I promised Hanae that I'd go get bubble tea with her. See you Monday.”

Eyes stinging, you turn as quick as you can and ignore their confused voices.

(The tears flow like acid and you feel like dissolving from the inside out.)

Months pass and you deny your horrifyingly strong yet compressed feelings.

You greet Aika and Iwaizumi in the hallways, and you know that you're happy because Iwaizumi is, and that's honestly all you could ask for your long-time crush (turned bitter love). You even talk to Aika freely during shared classes, just to disguise your depressing jealousy.

Every time you see them share a discreet kiss or grip each other's hands, you genuinely wish you were dying. It sure feels like you are.

(Like you're drowning, like your lungs are burning up and you're begging for oxygen, begging to breathe in Iwaizumi's love that's reserved for someone else. It hurts a lot but he's happy.)

(So you have to be happy.)

Hanae spares you sympathetic looks. “Come on, wifey-chan, you're married to meee. Get over him, he doesn't deserve you if he chose Aika the troll over you.”

“That's mean,” you sigh and crumble onto Hanae. “Aika-san’s nice. And pretty. And talented. It's no wonder Haji would choose her.”

“Stopppp! You’re so much more than Troll-chan, okay?!?” Hanae’s pep talk is brash, but you appreciate the charm. “If Iwaizumi-kun doesn’t see that, I’ll punch him.”

You laugh lightly at the fact that Hanae had talked to Iwaizumi enough to be calling him kun, but your voice is still heavy despite the sentiment. “You're so weird. But that's why I love you.”

“Of course you do~”

On another innocent hang-out with Iwaizumi and Oikawa, you’re met with abrupt news.

“Aika and I broke up.” Iwaizumi mutters softly.

“Eeeeh?!” You’re shell-shocked again, but you'd be lying if you said you were crushed like last time. “But-- but you guys were doing so well! You were the cutest couple!”

“She broke up with him over text,” Oikawa chimes in and you gape as Iwaizumi punches him again. “Two days ago.”

“She what-”

“She said she wasn't ready for a relationship,” is all Iwaizumi says.

You feel heartbreak and burning pity boil inside of you. “I-I’m so sorry, Haji… you didn't deserve that. You'll find someone better.”

Me. It's me, I promise I won't break your heart the way she did, because you're all I ever wanted.

He nods and for the first time in a while, he hugs you tight. “Yeah..”

It breaks you because it feels so good, his embrace warming you.

But it breaks you more to hear him whisper, “I can’t get over her though.”

(You just wanted him to be happy but he can’t. You can’t fix it.)

“You will,” you breathe out, trying not to let the tears slip. “You’re gonna be okay.”

(You know you’re not.)

But you don’t say that when you feel Iwaizumi’s shaky breath and him muttering, “Thanks.”

“Oh my god, [Name], did you hear about Hajime-kun?” Hanae’s alarmed voice three days later makes you concerned.

First of all, Hajime-kun-- “W-What? What happened now??” Nonetheless, panic still seeps into you.

“Aika broke up with him!!” Hanae seems so worked up over this and you wonder, how close is she to him? “Can you believe it?? She really threw away one of the best people in school!”

Shouldn’t I be saying that…? “Yeah, I know…” you try not to sound too bitter. “But like, it’s not really her fault she wasn’t ready for a relationship..”

Hanae huffs and crosses her arms, leaning onto you. “Well, I mean you’re right, but she shouldn’t have signed herself up for it if this was gonna happen. I feel so bad for him.” You’re about to layer on your argument, but Hanae straightens up and smirks. “See, your man’s single. Shoot your shot!”

“Right after a break-up?? Hanae, you’re batshit crazy-”

“Uh, well, make him like you, then shoot your shot!”

Your head and heart kind of hurts from all this talk about Iwaizumi, no matter how smitten you are for him, so you just blindly nod and agree.

It works for the rest of the day until you get home and cry into your pillow, wondering what to do.

Hope is re-kindled into you.

Over the past two-ish months, post-breakup, you find that comforting Iwaizumi makes you feel much better than wallowing in your self-pity. It’s a win-win: you’re putting even more of his trust into you, you two are getting even closer, and this could quite possibly end up in a great situation.

You melt at the sight of Iwaizumi, and every day you can see happiness soak back into him. Every time he laughs at one of your stupid jokes or grins at you while you rant and complain, you feel like your heart stops out of complete adoration of how stunning he is in every way you can think of.

He isn't perfect, but you think he's the perfect match for you.

And one day, at a study “date” (you try very hard not to take that term to heart!!) at a café, Iwaizumi peers up from laptop and gives you his signature, gruff yet content smile and says, “You know, I don't think I need Aika anymore.”

(You want to kiss him.)

It’s honestly been a shitty time for you and your friends, you realize.

Hanae broke up with her boyfriend, as you would have figured over the past few weeks she’s been ranting to you about how annoying and clingy and overprotective he is, but you found that she broke up with him over text. Oikawa went through three girlfriends in a month, to which he pouted and whined about but you knew he was secretly relieved that he didn’t have to carry more burden. And there’s the whole heartache Iwaizumi thing, even though things have been getting relatively better.

(You also realize amongst all your friends, you’re the only one who’s stayed very, very very single. You hope that’ll change soon.)

Things are going absolutely amazing with Iwaizumi. Even Oikawa’s been smirking at you and teasing you about your “true love” (to which you frustratedly deny but you honestly know that it’s just the truth when you consider your feelings for him). The two of you have felt confident enough to spend time with each other at your respective homes without feeling awkward or the need to have Oikawa there to provide a third wheel. You couldn’t wish for anything more.

So now you’re at a family-friend’s party, lounging on the couch away from the scene, on your phone. It’s so loud, but you’re content and refreshed on all the snacks you’ve practically been inhaling. Your phone pings in your hand and you glance up at the notification you’ve just received.

Oh, a text~

It’s from Hanae.

poopy hanae >:)): [name] are you busyyy

YOU: no not really

YOU: just at a party

poopy hanae >:)): OH okay so um can i tell you something but

poopy hanae >:)): i dont want you to get mad or sad ...so please let me just finish my texts

YOU: ?? yea go ahead , ill wait for you to finish :)

You feel kind of nervous once she puts it like that, but you let her continue.

poopy hanae >:)): remember how after my break up i promised i wouldn’t fall for anyone else, not for a while yk? i promised that to me and him: i wouldn’t let my heart get broken or whatever. but i found out that i don’t think i’ve ever really fallen for my ex. i think i just dated him because i felt bad and felt like i had to date him because i didn’t wanna reject him… but it happened still. but i think i’m in love now. honestly.

poopy hanae >:)): i’ve never felt this way around any guy before, not my ex, not anyone. everytime i see him my heart goes crazy, and i want to talk to him all the time. he’s just so perfect in every way. he’s so smart, he’s handsome as hell, he’s strong and caring… and i promised both of you i wouldn’t fall for anyone else but i broke that promise to him, you, and me. and i think you’ve figured out who he is now.

poopy hanae >:((: i’m sorry i can’t help it. i didn’t want to tell you because that would make our friendship weird but i hope now we’re at the stage where we will still be best friends regardless of him. i’m truly in love with iwaizumi hajime and i’m gonna confess to him on monday (tmr). i love him so much but i want you to know i love you more so he won’t ever get in the way of us. ily <3

The more you read the message, the more it makes you want to cry. Your hand starts trembling around your milk tea and you feel your face warm up, your eyes glassing over and your vision blurring. Stumbling your way into the bathroom, you lock yourself inside, staring at yourself in the mirror. You watch your delicate, shaking features in the mirror as the first bitter tear rolls down your cheek. More tears follow.

Sobs wrack your body and hot tears glide down your face, constantly, like a river. Whimpers escape you, and your lips are cracked and dry, and you keep thinking, Why would she do this to me?

YOU: ahaha it’s okay!!!

YOU: a boy shouldn’t get between us, ly :) make him happy

YOU: you desrvee him mroe than anbyody else

You cover your mouth with your shaking fingers in hopes that the others can’t hear you outside over the music.

You pretend it’s fine the next day at school.

Hanae doesn’t even mention it, but she hugs you a lot more and keeps whispering, “I love you”. The bitterness has sunken in a little bit and you resist the urge to tell her, It doesn’t change the fact that you broke me, but you figure that it’ll be okay.

You’ll just lose your feelings for Iwaizumi so she doesn’t have “competition”.

(It turns out to be harder than you think.)

When you see Iwaizumi at lunch, his smile never fails to make you flush a little bit and make you feel so warm and comfy. When he sits down next to you (!! ahhh!) since Hanae was in line for lunch, he makes a sigh-grunt noise as he nestles his chin into the crook of his palm. Oikawa, bless his dumb ass, sidles down next to you, making a dramatic sigh.

“Did you know Hanae-chan confessed to Iwa-chan today?”

You try so, so SO hard not to tense. “Yeah. She told me a few days ago that she- she was in love with him.”

(The way your voice cracks at “in love” is pathetic, you think.)

You don’t miss the way Oikawa’s face briefly flashes a frown at you before morphing back into his signature pretty-boy smile. Iwaizumi looks a little embarrassed to be talking about this but he nods. “Yeah, she pulled me aside right before lunch and… yeah. It was so embarrassing…” You’re in fucking awe of how cute he is even when he’s distressed, but you remind yourself (with a pang of bitterness) that you aren’t supposed to think that anymore.

“And I turned her down,” Iwaizumi continues, and your ears almost fucking pop at the noise. He- how, what? Why? “‘Cause I don’t know, I never really felt that way about her. I guess that’s why she’s been talking to me more and more lately. She said she understood if I wasn’t ready to move on ‘cause of Aika and stuff, but.. she said something like she’ll change my mind.” He snorts and murmurs, “I don’t think that’ll happen, honestly.”

Oikawa laughs, a peppery laugh accompanied with a side-eyed glance towards you. “Iwa-chan, you’re such a brute~ You sure that’s the only reason you turned her down?”

Iwaizumi lets out a snort again. “Yeah.. I’m over Aika now, but I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship. Plus, there isn’t anyone that I like like now. Hanae doesn’t stand out.”

The statement makes you crumble on the inside.

You idiot of a best friend. What good are you if you don’t stand up for Hanae?

But it doesn’t matter! He said he has no interest in anyone, including you. Or her. It’s pointless, futile. He never even considered you.

You’re so stupid, so worthless sometimes. You’re the worst. It doesn’t matter if you would go to the end of the world for Hajime. You have to give this up for her. Fight for her because he would never settle for someone like you.

You fight back the sob crawling in your throat, as your self-loathe and intrusive thoughts rain in. You try so hard not to let it get to you, but still-

It’s what Hanae deserves for putting up with you.

“You should give her a chance,” you force a small smile. “I mean, she’s pretty and smart, you know?”

Oikawa gives you a pitying gaze before Iwaizumi shakes his head, his cheek now pressing against his palm. “Nah. I don’t like anyone in that way now, and it’s gonna stay like that for a while, I’d think.”

He doesn’t like anyone in that way.

You shrug and nod, “Fair enough,” but your voice is so much smaller. You love Iwaizumi Hajime so much, and he’s always been your everything. From his habits to his comforting demeanor and his entire profile, he’s always infatuated you and you know that no matter how hard you deny it for anyone, you will never let go of the feelings that shackle you to him like chains.

You love him so much.

But I guess I’ll never win.

#iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #sorry this sucks #this is a mess

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queen-scribbles · 4 years

Text

Blowing Smoke

for @pillarspromptsweekly fill 106: Awakened Anonymous

---

Of all her duties as Lady of Caed Nua, Tavi’s least favorite, by far, was the petitioners. She liked helping people, sure, but listening to a multitude of them drone on about shit their own mayors should be handling was not helping. It was sitting in an uncomfortable chair for hours on end and trying not to let her mind wander. At least the flow was occasionally broken by someone coming with thanks--or a genuine problem that required her attention. And she had Aloth to elbow her when she failed at not letting her mind wander.

Today though.... today had been an unbroken line of petty grievances and finger-pointing. Tavi was on the verge of tearing her hair out, flinging some choice expletives at the postenagos, and walking out when it finally, finally ended.

“I have never been so glad to see a kith’s fuckin’ back in my life,” she muttered to Aloth as the last one moseyed out of the great hall. She slouched on the throne and ran both hands through her hair, letting out a groan of relief that it was done..

“Today did seem a much greater test of your patience than most,” he chuckled sympathetically, offering her his hand. ”I’m proud of you for not punching anyone, much as I’m sure you wanted to.”

“Thanks, city slicker.” She took his hand and used it to lever herself out of the throne. Her knees were stiff from sitting so long, as was her back. She stretched like a cat, rolling her shoulders to try and loosen the tight muscles. “Berath’s ass, I need to go do somethin’ fun.”

“By which you mean beat the stuffing out of some poor training dummy?” He didn’t let go of her hand as they started down the dais steps.

Tavi shrugged. “’Less Keya or somebody’s willin’ to go a few rounds with me, probably. Is Ioan here? He’s always good for a fight....”

Aloth shook his head. “You sent him to Whitewreath, remember? He hasn’t made it back yet.”

“Oh, right. Fine.” She pinched he bridge of her nose as they stepped through the doors out onto the grounds. “I need my armor. And sabres. And then I need to beat the shit outta somethin’, be it willin’ hireling or sacrificial dummy.”

However, antsy as she was to hit something, enjoy her freedom on a rather beautiful evening, the man loitering near the fountain stood out too much to be ignored. His height and build suggested he was folk, the cut of his burgundy shirt and rich brown jerkin suggested Vailian origin, but none of that seemed terribly relevant considering his corkscrewing ash-grey horns and the flickering flames that swirled around his head.

He grinned when he caught her staring, looked her over right back. “Watcher?”

Tavi crossed her arms and arched a brow. “What’s it to ya?”

He made a deep, theatrical bow that trailed embers and smoke, spark-bright eyes dancing as he met her gaze. “Elias Colgrin at your service, ac? I realize your time is precious and you are likely sick to death of kith asking for your help-”

“But you’re planning to do so, regardless?” Aloth interjected dryly. He looked distinctly unimpressed by the man’s showmanship.

“With no obligation to do more than talk, I assure you, aimico,” Elias winked. “I believe we share a past... mutual acquaintance, and merely wished a conversation.”

Tavi’s brow arched even higher. “I don’t have a lot of acquaintances,” she commented, wondering how long Elias had carried the customary mes Réi before he shed it in favor of his own name, clever as it was. “Who do you imagine we know in common?”

There were only two options, far as she was concerned. He knew someone from Silversteel, or had had a run-in of his own with the copperfuckers who kept trying to kill her.

“Ah, Watcher, you misunderstand.” He shook his head and leveled a significant look at her. “A past mutual acquaintance.”

The pieces clicked as she stared right back. There was a feeling, a sense, to fellow Awakened souls; maybe only something she noticed due to being a Watcher, but whatever it was hung around Elias like a newly purchased cloak. Now that was interesting... She grabbed his elbow and dragged him toward Brighthollow, Aloth scrambling to catch up with her abrupt start.

“Tavi,” he hissed, “what’re you doing?!”

Elias chuckled before she could reply. “...You know, dear Watcher, it is usually customary to ask when you wish someone’s company.”

“You fuckin’ wish,” she retorted, then turned to Aloth. “Just trust me.”

He nodded and quickened his pace to open the door for her. Tavi released Elias’ arm once they were inside and led the way up to one of the now-empty rooms her companions had used. She opted to lean against the wall rather than sit on one of the chairs left behind.

“So.” She inclined her chin toward Elias as he dropped into one chair so his chest pressed against the back. “Exactly what ‘past acquaintance’ d’you think we share?”

“Oh...” He let the word trail off coyly. “A certain enigmatic Engwithan. Tall, imposing, impressive beard.” The bright spark of one eye briefly winked closed as he grinned. “Feel free to stop me when you guess it.”

"I think I got it,” Tavi deadpanned. “For someone who acknowledges how precious my time is, Elias, you sure seem intent on fuckin’ wastin’ it with fancy talk and guessing games. If you have somethin’ to say and aren’t just blowin’ smoke, cut the bullshit and say it.”

Elias rested his chin on the back of the chair. “Fair enough. The fancy talk and bullshit is my bread and butter; it’s hard to let it go, ac?” He cocked his head as he looked at her, the flames dimming slightly. “Thaos. I knew him. As did you.”

“What makes you think I did?” she asked, eyes narrowed. She knew some details of her pursuit had become common knowledge, but others had not. MAde her wonder where he’d gotten that idea.

He smiled thinly and shook his head. “Now who’s wasting your time? I do not come to accuse or recruit or whatever you think I’m up to. But I do know that you knew him. Previously.”

“How?” Aloth frowned as he settled in the other chair.

“Kith talk,” Elias shrugged. “You hear things, ac? Especially when in a tavern at the same time as another storyteller.”

She took his meaning; there’d been a good two decades where tavern chatter was her primary method of acquiring information. Kith did talk, especially when they were drunk, excited, or both. “Alright, then, how did you know him?”

He smirked and the flames flickered. “As a shepherd knows a wolf, honey-tongued and wily, come to steal his flock. As one who heard treacherous Iovara and her dutiful sister held up to contrast the waiting fates by those who saw their story unfold. I knew him as a smugly grinning judge who won my people to his faith in a trickle turned torrent, then accused me of heresy for not bending the knee to his wishes.” His Vailian lilt, which had vanished as he shared his past life’s experience, returned, and he smirked. “Heresy that could be forgiven through conversion and repentance, of course. Submission. Otherwise, the cleansing grip of Berath awaited, and hopefully my next life would be more receptive.” Elias gave a dark chuckle. “Given the memories do not extend much further, I think he--I--chose an honest death over a lived lie.”

“Good choice,” Tavi muttered, pushing away memories of pious hymns and muddy boots and the smiling face of a sister not yet betrayed. “And an interestin’ tale, I’ll give ya that.” She shoved off the wall and gave him a measuring look. “How long have you--”

“Been Awakened?” He shrugged gamely. “Only a few months, aimica.”

She raised a brow. “You’re handlin’ it a lot fuckin’ better than I did that early in.”

“Well, I can’t speak to your experiences, but bearing Magran’s favor has necessitated learning to roll with the punches.” His eyes sparked brighter as he grinned. “Or, at least, look like you’re rolling with the punches.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve dealt with some fuckin’ stiff punches,” Tavi snarked. “Dealin’ with an Awakened soul is still a pretty big change. ‘Specially when they’re real different from you.”

Aloth coughed into the back of his hand and Tavi winked at him.

“All that aside, though,” she said to Elias, “what made you come to me? Thaos is dead an’ fuckin’ gone, so you’re a couple months late for revenge.”

“What good would that have done me, anyway?” Elias scoffed. “He did not seem the type to ever question if he was wrong. Besides, the past is the past.”

“Well, then,” she cracked her knuckles, “why are you here?”

“As I said, kith talk. You hear things, ac?” He spread his hands. “From the tales I hear, Thaos has been manipulating the course of history and faith itself for centuries... millennia. I thought, .between the two of us, if we compared experiences--memories--we could perhaps find some wrongs he caused, or at least set in motion, that could be made right.”

Tavi’s thoughts drifted to the speech Thaos had made, the boasting of plagues allowed, beneficent leaders replaced with tyrants. He didn’t seem to leave survivors in his wake, aside from his own followers. And sometimes they weren’t even so lucky. Sacrifices for the greater good. Finding some of the means he’d decided were justified by ends and setting things right was an enticing thought.

“It’s.... not a bad plan,” Aloth muttered, the grudging words yanking her from her reverie.

“Wait, you agree with him?” she blurted. She’d figured it would take at least a couple rounds of persuading.

“Not entirely,” he clarified, twisting one of his rings. “I’m not sure, at this point, how much good you can actually accomplish; in most cases it’s far too late for recompense. But if the two of you compare notes, as it were, you may be able to establish an idea of his patterns and methods, making it easier to trace events he may have influenced.”

“Ac, another good point,” Elias gestured broadly and grinned at Aloth. “I had not considered that; you may also find that useful.”

“And what’re you gettin’ outta this?” Tavi probed. “Most kith I’ve met aren’t this helpful outta the goodness of their hearts, why’re you so fuckin’ eager to help?”

“Who would not wish a chance to solve mysteries or right wrong hundreds of years in the making?” His grin widened and he leaned into the chair back, making it rock on two feet. “The tales alone would be worth my weight in gold, aimica. And to have the honor and privilege of working with the legendary Watcher Tavi Illani, Roadwarden of Caed Nua, well,” the chair thunked emphatically down on all four legs once more. “That will make me highly desirable to the curious. Knowing heroes always pays well for storytellers.”

Tavi stared at him as she weighed out his free acknowledgement of using her for the name recognition to line his pockets against the potential benefits of his proposal. He held her gaze steadily, the flames flickering and twisting around his horns as he waited. It sounded interesting, more fun than most parts of being the Lady of the castle, anyway,and if there was risk to it, well, that had never scared her before. “Eh, we can give it a fuckin’ try,” she finally shrugged.

“Belfetto!” Elias chuckled. “Agracima, Watcher.”

“Just call me Tavi.” She pointed a cautionary finger at him. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said as he pushed to his feet. “Hardly seems wise to cross one with your reputation, eh?”

“Smart man,” she smirked. “There are plenty of rooms free, since most of my friends have gone their separate ways, so you can have your pick of those. We can work things out tomorrow; gives you time to settle in and I” --she headed for the door, snagging Aloth’s hand to tug him to his feet as she passed--”have a previous engagement.”

“Agreeable terms,” Elias nodded, flames dancing brightly. “I shall see you tomorrow, then.”

“Both of us,” Aloth chimed in. However agreeable he was to Elias’ proposal, he clearly remained skeptical of the man himself. Probably a good thing one of them wasn’t swept up in the lure of righting wrongs and fucking up Thaos’ schemes.

“Ac, of course,” Elias agreed easily.

“Well, this should be interestin’,” Tavi said, linking her fingers between Aloth’s as they headed for her room so she could get her armor and sabres.

“That is one word for it,” he replied dryly.

“Oh, c’mon, city slicker.” She squeezed his hand. “Even if he is just blowin’ smoke”--he rolled his eyes and she grinned at the pun--”having another Awakened perspective on Thaos will be interestin’. It’s a damn good word and you know it.”

“I will concede the point,” Aloth said. He released her hand as they stepped into her room.

“Thought you might,” she gloated as she gathered up the lighter chain shirt she used for sparring and grabbed her sabres. He rolled his eyes again. But Tavi caught his fond smile as they headed out of Brighthollow. He knew, sketchy as it might be, she would enjoy this pursuit much more than she would warming a throne for hours on end and listening to people complain.The possibilities of it were already getting her excited, she had to admit.

Whatever came of it, this would prove very interesting, indeed.

-----------

So, yeah, new OC. :D He’s somewhere between Tekéhu and Scanlan personality-wise, and while I love him, you can imagine how well Aloth will get along with him. :P

#queens fic #pillars prompts weekly #tavi illani #aloth corfiser #elias colgrin #pillars of eternity

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socionicsdatabase · 4 years

Text

Charles Lindbergh - SLI (ISTp)

Delta Quadra: The Quadra who fears “clipped wings” (Stratiyevskaya)

For Lindbergh, the sky was not the limit. As is typical of Delta Quadra, personal growth and development was a lifelong goal of his. He felt the most free when he could fly, and desired to live a quiet, peaceful life close to nature where he could develop his abilities and see and experience new adventures. He hated being part of crowds, hated fast-paced lifestyles. He wasn’t actively trying to change the world; he was simply pursuing what he loved and trying to maximize his own personal abilities, as is typical for Delta Quadra. He was happiest when he felt close to nature, with the freedom to pursue possibilities and develop his own potential. IP type: “IPs are both dynamic and irrational, so they see reality as in continuous, gradual, often imperceptible change.” (sociotype.com). Lindbergh was comfortable with abrupt changes. He was flexible, adaptive, and took things as they came. He saw the world as constantly being in a state of change, as can be easily seen from his writings.

Temperament: Melancholic - “These are sociotypes that are calm externally, but restless inside. Melancholics are introverts, so they hide their inner experiences under the guise of calm or, conversely, liveliness. The problem of any melancholy is the search for inner harmony, which is so easily destroyed by the rude influences of external factors.” (socionic.ru) Though Lindbergh appeared calm on the outside, it can be seen especially from his diary writings that he was internally restless, with a vast depth of inner experiences.

Lead function: Si (4D, Valued) Lindbergh’s love of aviation and flying stemmed from the physical experience it gave him. When describing his first experience jumping out of a parachute, he said, “It was a love of the air and sky and flying, the lure of adventure, the appreciation of beauty.” He was captivated by natural beauty, and cherished the sensations and experiences his pursuits gave him. He loved being alone out in the wilderness, which he often says gave him an unparalleled freedom. He said, “In the wilderness I sense the miracle of life...” He also noted that “The human future depends on our ability to combine the knowledge of science with the wisdom of the wilderness.” Lindbergh was very aware of the environment around him, the harmony within it, and how it made him feel. “Man must feel the earth to know himself and recognize his values...” He desired to preserve the natural beauty of the world. He had a deep love of nature, believing that modern cities were against the nature of man. “Real freedom lies in wilderness, not civilization”, he said. To Lindbergh, it was important to become united with the earth, to melt into it, and to fully experience the natural beauty it had to offer. He became a conservationist and promoter of environmental causes, once mentioning that he preferred birds to airplanes. Toward the end of his life, he planned his funeral and desired to have as natural a burial as possible.

Creative function: Te (3D, Valued) Lindbergh had natural skills as a mechanic. He went to school to study mechanical engineering and originally intended to pursue it as a career, but as can often happen with SLIs, he did not finish and dropped out to pursue flight school instead. However, he was always interested in engineering and performed all the mechanical work on his planes himself. Later on, in 1935, he helped to develop the world’s first “artificial heart”, a heart perfusion pump (valued Te-Ne). He was impressed by the high quality engineering that he saw in Germany (Te-Si-Ne) and their more advanced development of technology. While assisting with altitude tests at the Mayo Clinic, the new information he came up with at the end of his trials there was used by Henry Ford to modify the oxygen equipment of his airplanes and helped them become safer. He also taught young pilots how to best conserve plane fuel and resources so that they could fly for longer periods of time.

Role function: Ni (2D, Unvalued) Lindbergh was grounded in the world around him and was not very imaginative, but he was capable of occasionally turning his attention to the flow of time and long-term implications, and this seemed to be something he desired to do. This can be seen most easily in his writings. According to Model A, the role function is “seen as somewhat of an importance to the individual, but definitely not emphasized.” Model A also notes that “the role function is triggered situationally, when individuals are met with situations that oppose their base aspect of reality.” Lindbergh preferred experiencing things and was never a natural writer. This may be why use of Ni can be seen most easily in Lindbergh’s writings. He wrote that, “Life is a culmination of the past, an awareness of the present, an indication of a future beyond knowledge...” And also said, “I hope my journals relating to World War II will help clarify issues of the past and thereby contribute to understanding the issues and conditions of the present and future.” He made some effort (especially after being encouraged by his wife) to document what he did, to serve as a reminder of the past for future generations, though this was not his primary motivation in life.

Vulnerable function: Fe (1D, Unvalued) It is well-known that Lindbergh hated large crowds and the attention that fame brought him. He was known to make extreme efforts to avoid people and recognition, such as disguising himself when going out in public. When a large crowd gathered to celebrate his landing, he would make efforts to avoid them. He didn’t like all the attention and disliked attempts to bring him into wider society. He rejected offers to be in movies and commercials. Instead, he strived to live a secluded, private life away from the public eye. Even while working on the development of the heart perfusion pump, he desired to be anonymous and keep his work quiet. He seemed to receive no joy out of the prevailing emotional atmosphere. Instead, he would seek to escape such atmospheres, and saw the attention of the public as “oppressive”, remarking that he “had enough publicity for 15 lives.” His avoidance of larger society and desire to do everything on his own in a self-sufficient way helped earn him the nickname ‘The Lone Eagle’.

Suggestive function: Ne (1D, Valued) Lindbergh spent his whole life unconsciously seeking adventure. As a boy he spent a lot of his free time reading, especially adventure stories. The desire to have new experiences, to see new places, was one of the main motivators behind his aviation pursuits. He quit traditional school to pursue flight school, which he thought could lead him to greater adventure. He loved flying to new places and seeing new things. He also had a respect and love of science, discovery, and innovation. He helped the Aero Medical Unit for Research in Aviation Medicine at the Mayo Clinic. When describing the atomic age of war, Lindbergh expresses his sadness over the potential destruction of nature that the atomic bomb can produce. He says, “I worshipped science. I was awed by its knowledge...Now...I have seen the science I worshipped, and the aircraft I loved destroying the civilization I expected them to serve, and which I thought as permanent as the earth itself.” Here we can again see not only his valuing of Te and Ne, through his love of science and knowledge, but also his preference for Si over Se. He disliked the powerful force of the atomic bomb disrupting the harmony of civilization. He was open to new ideas and encouraged their growth and development. He became very interested in space travel and saw space as the new frontier. He supported the rocketry research of Goddard and Guggenheim and secured funding for their projects. Lindbergh also seemed to have an admiration for people with a wide variety of talents and abilities, and desired to develop his own abilities. For example, he admired his wife’s ability to write and speak different languages. She encouraged him to develop his own writing abilities, and this is something he appreciated and responded well to. Mobilizing function: Fi (2D, Valued) The mobilizing function tends to manifest as something we appreciate and that has a strong influence over our actions (School of Associative Socionics, 2020). This can be seen throughout Lindbergh’s life. He stated that, “Power without moral force to guide it invariably ends in the destruction of the people who wield it. Power...must be backed by morality...” During his time as a civilian observer in the Pacific, he wrote about the cruelty and inhumane treatment of the Japanese that he witnessed, and the view among some of the soldiers that the enemy troops were merely “animals”. He said, “I am shocked at the attitude of our American troops. They have no respect for death, the courage of an enemy soldier, or many of the ordinary decencies of life.” He criticized the dehumanization of enemy troops and said he was concerned by the “lack of respect for even the admirable characteristics of our enemy.” He believed in the dignity of the human person, noting that “No person with a sense of the dignity of mankind can condone the persecution of the Jewish race in Germany.” Lindbergh was also known to be a private person who did not talk much of his feelings, and did not like it when others tried to get him to. According to Stratiyevskaya, “SLI dislikes it very much when intimate things are talked about directly - this is almost like a sacrilege to him.” His wife Anne notes that “he himself never felt the need to explain his feelings about where he stood and about past statements.” He disliked any attempts by others to analyze his soul. According to Grigory Reinin, SLIs “try to protect their emotional sphere from the intruding outsiders in every possible way.” He rejected books that were written about him and wanted the only information about him to be written by himself. He regularly kept a diary, but his Te style prevailed over personal Fi sentiments. Much of his diary writings were objective facts rather than personal emotional experiences. Interestingly, he also had a tendency to record the exact number of words on each page and wrote that number at the top, as a statistic.

Ignoring function: Se (3D, Unvalued) Lindbergh was outspoken against war and preferred not to fight, though he understood it as sometimes necessary and showed respect for enemy troops (valued Fi also present). He said, “If I must fight, I'll fight; but I prefer not to spit at my enemy beforehand.” He understood the value of war and combat, but he did not like it to be used unless absolutely necessary. He did not think the US had a right to interfere in the affairs of other countries. He was publicly outspoken against the pro-war policies of President Franklin Roosevelt and it is known that the two of them did not think favorably of each other. He spoke of the misuse of power as being the greatest threat to mankind, and in 1945 said, “History is full of its misuse. There is no better example than Nazi Germany.” He preferred to appreciate and experience nature for what it was, rather than use force to try to conquer and shape it into something else. His wife Anne also noted that “he never wanted to be regarded as a hero or leader, and he never had political ambitions.” She noted that his speeches and statements were given out of his sincere belief of what was the best thing to do for the country and the world. Demonstrative function: Ti (4D, Unvalued) According to Grigory Reinin, for the SLI “knowing the world is its practical mastering.” We can see this with Lindbergh, who was more interested in experiencing life as it was, rather than trying to fit everything into a logical system. According to Wikisocion, SLIs “tend to feel that life is difficult to categorize and should simply be experienced for what it is.” However, this function is a strong, fundamental part of SLIs and could be seen playing a role in his love of science and his mechanical understanding of planes and gadgets. Though Ti is a strong function that is always working in the background, SLIs use it only situationally, to apply it to things they are interested in. Lindbergh had a strong understanding of how things fit together into a cohesive whole, but he chose not to focus on that and preferred experiencing things.

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nadziejastar · 4 years

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Did you finish reading that KH3: A Conclusion without a story article? If so, what did you think of it?

I loved reading it. It was a fantastic take on KH3. There was pretty much nothing that I disagreed with.

By the time you leave Olympus, Sora hasn’t learnt how to restore his powers; and the frustrating part is that he never explicitly does.

I completely agreed with this. Sora’s journey in KH3 should have been about learning the power of waking. But even in the scene where he finally does learn it, there’s no real reason why. He didn’t seem to learn anything on his journey.

Even the villains are given no progress – a subplot about Pete and Maleficent looking for a mysterious black box goes nowhere, and Organisation XIII (the primary antagonists) only put in a brief appearance, spouting their usual brand of vaguely ominous dialogue. To compound these issues, the protagonists are ultimately left not knowing where to go or what to do next. Only two hours into the game, and the plot has no sense of momentum or direction.

Yep. The black box thing annoyed me so much. The Organization was also a huge letdown. We don’t get to learn the real reason why Marluxia, Larxene, Demyx, and Luxord joined until KH4!? Something went very, VERY wrong in the Dark Seeker Saga for that to happen.

By comparison, Kingdom Hearts II’s opening was significantly slower paced – to the point that it was a detriment to some players. However, so much more was achieved in a similar space of time; II’s initial hours establish the game’s tone and major themes, as well as introduce a large cast of brand new characters (while simultaneously reintroducing old ones in new contexts).

Yep. I liked KH2′s opening, slow as it was. The prologue of KH2 felt like it had more plot than almost all of KH3.

And this is one of the core problems with Kingdom Hearts III; even if you look past a threadbare narrative for Sora and company while they adventure through the self-contained Disney worlds, there is nothing going on outside of that either. In Kingdom Hearts II, both Riku and Mickey were operating behind the scenes, aiding Sora from the shadows and setting key events in motion. In III, however, these same characters spend most of their time expositing plot points and passively waiting for the big battle at the end of the game – and that can be said for almost all of our heroes.

I also agree. This problem would have been mitigated if every character got their own time to shine using the power of waking. Riku and Mickey could have had a subplot together, showing how Riku got his new Keyblade. They should have saved each other from the darkness.

If there’s a job to do, it’s up to Sora to do it. With a couple of key exceptions, every character apart from Sora, Donald, and Goofy is presented as almost comically useless – yet our protagonist remains the butt of every joke.

Yep. Everyone other than Sora was useless. Aqua needed to save Ven, but all she did was get knocked out in the battle with Vanitas. Ven needed to save Terra, but he didn’t really do anything. Sora did all the work. Lea needed to save Isa, but he did nothing in his fight. He got shoved to the side while Roxas and Xion took over. Kairi saving Sora should have gotten more focus.

The villains reveal that the only way Sora can release Roxas is by giving into the darkness, and sacrificing his own heart. Self-sacrifice is nothing new for Sora (he did the same thing in Kingdom Hearts I to save his love interest Kairi), but this had the potential to be an interesting plot point, as it gives him a selfless reason to be tempted by, and potentially give into, the darkness. But it’s never brought up again.

Yep. Early scenes in KH3 make it seem like the game did originally have an actual plot at one point. Xigbar was luring Sora into a trap, so he’d fall to darkness. But it’s never brought up again, LOL. It’s crazy.

In fact, ‘saving Roxas’ is scarcely discussed until the end of the game (King Mickey telling Sora to “let the rest of us worry about Roxas and Naminé for now”, essentially dropping the subject after only the second Disney world). Ultimately, Roxas’ heart just leaves Sora’s body of its own volition in the final act, making the player’s time here, once again, feel largely pointless.

And yes, saving Roxas was handled very badly. This is because, IMO, saving Roxas and saving Ventus was supposed to be one and the same. There shouldn’t have been a separate “saving Roxas” subplot.

In interviews, Nomura discussed the struggle of dealing with so many characters – even citing the cast size as one of the main reasons that Final Fantasy cameos were omitted[2]. The real problem, though, is that nothing is done to mitigate this challenge.

Yes, exactly. And treating Roxas and Ventus as separate characters only exacerbated this problem.

Upon leaving Twilight Town, the player finally begins their true journey – travelling to various worlds based on Disney properties and beating back the forces of darkness. But there’s no real set up for this; no distinct reason *why* we’re visiting these worlds.

Mm-hm. I think the issue was that we were supposed to learn more about Ansem the Wise’s data in KH0.5. That was supposed to give Sora a quest in KH3: search for the “Key to Return Hearts”. Once that game got cancelled, Nomura had no idea how to write KH3′s story any longer.

So around 3-4 hours into Kingdom Hearts III, the story still lacks a clear sense of direction and purpose, and hasn’t yet established any clear themes or deeper meaning.

Yeah, it’s sad because there was an underlying theme in the Disney worlds: the power of love and its ability to restore what was lost.

Kingdom Hearts III cleverly tries to frame its story through the lens of a chess match between two Keyblade Masters, Eraqus and Xehanort, when they were young. The game even opens on this scene, highlighting its importance. But chess has rules; logic; a clear sense of direction. Kingdom Hearts III’s narrative is akin to two people who don’t know how to play chess. They understand that they have to defeat their opponent’s king, but the rules of how to move their pieces, how to actually reach that coveted checkmate, are completely unknown to them. The characters in this game feel like pieces on a chess board with no rules; aimlessly moving back and forth across a limited space, until both players finally decide enough is enough and agree to bring their match to an end.

LOL. Yep. The fact that Xehanort had “reserve members” showed he had no idea what he was doing.

Stick to your guns – don’t be afraid to explore a good idea, or to develop the plot outside of your main protagonist. When so many previously proactive characters are in play, the story shouldn’t feel so static, or entirely dependent on the protagonist’s actions. The way your protagonist reacts to events and changing circumstances is just as important as the ones they play an active role in creating.

That’s why I liked the spin-offs. KH3 suffered from forcing you into only Sora’s perspective. Even Nomura said that the Keyblade Graveyard should have had everyone fighting their own battles.

Simply put, the Disney worlds in Kingdom Hearts III have no tangible impact on the game’s core narrative.

Sad, but true.

“In the end, although I had a hand in it as well, the flow of the dialogue and the stories of each world were largely handled by the level design team.” While I very much appreciate this standpoint of ‘gameplay first’, as well as the act of involving multiple teams in the execution of the story, these statements do prove my point. Set-pieces and events are one thing, but if there was a specific story to tell – with outlined themes to be explored, character conflicts to evolve, and goals to be achieved; all developed evenly throughout the entire game (Disney worlds included) - you would imagine the scenario would be built around balancing those narrative elements with the individual tales of each level.

Very interesting. The story in the Disney worlds was largely decided by the level design team? Wow.

Despite major villains such as Young Xehanort, Vanitas, and Marluxia making multiple appearances in their respective worlds, they generally just spout off trite exposition and then either disappear or summon a boss fight. Some villains don’t even know why they’re there, while others introduce plot points (such as the Black Box or the new Princesses of Heart) that are never utilised or expanded upon. As the game features at least thirteen main antagonists, these early appearances should have been integral in establishing their personalities, motivations, and the threat they pose to the player (as well as our heroes). In execution, though, they seem like little more than after-thoughts that offer hints of personality, but never go beyond the superficial – and certainly contribute nothing to the main narrative. This, I believe, is because Kingdom Hearts III doesn’t have a story to tell, but was instead content with treading water until its grand conclusion.

Yep. I had no idea why Marluxia, Larxene, and Luxord were running around in the worlds. Why are they back? Other characters, like Saix, were given flimsy “motivation”. All in all, the organization members were supposed to be vessels by the time you fight them in the KG. Hollowed out containers for Xehanort’s heart. Victims of mind control who you are supposed to have pity for. But they never felt like it.

Kingdom Hearts III’s meandering and vapid progression during ‘the Disney loop’ supports my argument that the game lacks a complete narrative and was merely concerned with reaching its final act. I believe this is most evident by the way in which the player is made to jump from world to world without any direction or purpose. Consequently, the majority of Kingdom Hearts III feels content to aimlessly ‘go through the motions’, setting a repetitive, humdrum pace and ultimately lacking the sense of narrative depth and genuine value that is integral to a great RPG.

Yeah, I believe there was–at one point–an actual plot for KH3. But after BBSV2 was cancelled, a huge portion of KH3′s plot was pretty much scrapped along with it and rewritten.

Everyone’s heard of the three-act structure; a model that forms the foundation of popular culture’s favourite stories. Act 1 features the setup and exposition; an ‘inciting incident’ to get the narrative moving. Act 2 is the confrontation; a midpoint which challenges the protagonist, pushing them to their limits. And finally, Act 3 is the resolution; concluding the plot, along with any character arcs introduced in the previous acts. While this structure doesn’t necessarily need to be adhered to, I believe it possesses something that Kingdom Hearts III sorely lacked – a midpoint.

Yep. KH3 had no mid-point. Scala ad Caelum could have worked as the mid-point. And it could have been another hub world like Radiant Garden. KH3 probably originally had this, but it was scrapped.

This is especially a shame, as Aqua’s fall into darkness – resulting in a twisted form that externalises all of her loneliest thoughts – is one of the most dramatically compelling aspects of the game. And that’s despite lasting for all of 10 minutes (a decade of solitude and suffering are seemingly erased by a few whacks from Sora’s Keyblade).

This is true for all of the characters that needed to be saved. Nobody really used the power of waking on anyone. It’s was just whack, whack, okay you’re saved.

And this is ultimately the problem with the lack of a true Act 2 – the characters aren’t explored or challenged when they need to be. The narrative refuses to escalate until its final act, at which point it feels like going from zero to sixty in a matter of moments. But during the heat of battle – at such a late stage, and with so many heroes and villains in play (more than twenty) – it’s hard to develop your characters in a way that feels natural. Kingdom Hearts III’s solution is bizarre soliloquies that are completely disconnected from the events around them. Is Sora in the middle of a boss fight with three villains? Well, the other two will disappear while you spend several minutes casually chatting with the third. And while this is partly due to the challenge of giving such a large cast an appropriate send-off, it’s also a direct consequence of the lack of time given to exploring characters and their relationships in the previous 20-25 hours of playtime.

So true. So many characters who had so much development over the series. That’s why they needed another game before KH3. It was probably too much to ask for KH3 to be the epic conclusion as well as dive into everyone’s backstory.

On that note, having some sort of hub – a place, like Traverse Town or Hollow Bastion in the first two Kingdom Hearts games, that the player regularly returns to – can be an effective way to centre your story. It provides a home base, and a recurring cast of characters that can be revisited at any time. This kind of location helps players to feel a deeper and more personal attachment to your world.

Yeah, the game would have been so much better if you could visit RG and interact with the plot-important NPCs.

Put in Kingdom Hearts terms, we might say that the body and soul are here; it’s just missing its heart.

I’ve had the exact same thought.

This essay began with the assertion that Kingdom Hearts III is a conclusion in search of a story; a game without a tale of its own to tell. So far, we’ve examined the material impact; the effect this has on the game’s pacing, its sense of player progression, engagement, and character development. So in this topic, I want to consider the conceptual side of things; the motivations that drive our heroes and villains, the purpose of the events that take place, and finally the meaning intended to be conveyed by the story. Put simply, does the narrative of Kingdom Hearts III have something to say?

Sadly, no. I can tell it was supposed to, though. KH3′s story was supposed to be about the power of love. It was really that simple.

By the time of Kingdom Hearts III, Riku has overcome all of these challenges and been granted the title of Keyblade Master, so it was important to present him as a more mature, capable character, having regained his confidence and developed a clear identity. But ultimately, he just feels bland and stoic in this game. He has no new narrative arc, relatively few interactions with Sora, predominantly serves as a mouthpiece for exposition, and is more devoid of a distinct personality than ever. And for a game which serves as a conclusion to the story so far, it’s essential that our core group of characters, such as Riku and Kairi, reach a satisfying crescendo. The narrative should organically involve them in significant ways, and the challenges they face should provide natural opportunities for growth and exploration.

Sad, since Riku seemed like he did originally have a narrative arc. He got a new Keyblade! But the way he got it was laughably random and meaningless and contributed nothing to his overall growth or development.

As much as I’ve tried to understand it, I cannot summarise Master Xehanort’s motivation in that same, concise way. His initial speech in Kingdom Hearts III implies idle curiosity; he speculates that “If ruin brings about creation, what, then, would another Keyblade War bring?” followed by statements that he wants to re-enact the conflict and simply see what happens. He also wonders if they will “…be found worthy of the precious light the legend speaks of”, implying that his goal is to test humanity; or at least the current generation of Keyblade wielders. But that’s a pretty flimsy motivation, and it’s lacking any context or logic.

Yep. Xehanort was supposed to have another game to explore his motivations. When you get rid of that, his character just doesn’t work anymore.

And it’s not just the heroes that have this problem. During their death scenes, several of the Organisation’s members (Luxord, Marluxia, Larxene, Xigbar, Xion, Saix, and Ansem) either encourage Sora or imply that they didn’t care about the outcome; or didn’t even want to battle in the first place. Some have their reasons, but if even one of them had chosen not to fight, Xehanort’s re-enactment could have failed. Much like I described earlier, it doesn’t feel satisfying to overcome a foe who didn’t want to fight, and a war with the potential to destroy the universe should be motivated by much more powerful convictions.

I don’t disagree. But I honestly think this is because none of these characters actually wanted to fight in the Keyblade War. They were supposed to be possessed puppets. Mind-controlled vessels with no will of their own.

Let’s use Saix as an example. What makes a more engaging battle? In canon, Saix had flimsy motivations to be fighting, anyways. He wanted to atone so he was acting as a double agent in order to procure some Replicas. And he wanted look for Subject X. That’s why he joined Xehanort. That’s all the reason he had to fight.

Compare that to a potential backstory with him as a vessel, lacking free will. Isa was a human test subject who was possessed as a teen. His best friend Lea has to fight him unwillingly. Saix is berserk and nearly kills Lea without even being aware of it. But all Lea wants is to save his best friend. I know which one I find more engaging.

Ever since that first game, I’ve been trying to identify what it is that unified these two styles of storytelling – the Disney fairytale with the SquareSoft RPG. And in writing this essay, I finally realised; the secret ingredient, the unifying thread that both franchises had in common, was love. Romance is at the core of almost every classic Disney film, and every Final Fantasy from IV to X was in some way a love story. Seemingly the developers of the original Kingdom Hearts realised this too.

I’m pretty neutral about the Sora/Kairi romance. I mainly wanted Kairi to not feel like a damsel-in-distress yet again. And KH3 definitely screwed that up.

In a way, my problem was the same as that of Kingdom Hearts III’s story. We both spent so much time looking to the horizon, imagining what the future may hold, that we missed out on what was already right in front of us. I will always love and support this series, and its creativity and charm will no doubt continue to inspire my own stories for the rest of my life. But despite not being the conclusion I hoped for, Kingdom Hearts III has freed me from my own obsession with the series’ future. I no longer feel like I’m waiting for something that may never come. Of course, I hope the series gets its story back on track, and rises to new heights greater than ever before! But it turns out that I already got my ending in 2006; and now that I’ve finally realised that, I can finally, honestly say that, as a Kingdom Hearts fan, I am satisfied.

It’s sad that KH2’s ending felt more satisfying. Because KH3 should have been even better than KH2′s ending. KH2 had a happy ending. But in KH3, everyone was there on the beach. Terra, Aqua, and Ven were saved. In KH2, Axel was dead. He had a sad ending. But in KH3, he was human again and even had his childhood best friend back, too. Even Hayner, Pence, and Olette were there. Sora should have been there, too. By all accounts, I should have liked KH3′s ending the best out of any game. But they ruined it with the horrible character development and the cheap cliffhanger.

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sanguinehumour · 5 years

Text

A little Black Panther ficlet for themiseryandcompany

T’challa sighed audibly as he stared at the stack of official invitations, proclamations and pronouncements arranged into piles that conspired to teeter no matter how carefully he organized them in front of him on his desk. Beside him, tempting him away from the official business required of the king of the newly-revealed-to-the-world African nation of Wakanda, a combat simulation programme ran, holographic images of his alter-ego, The Black Panther, and Captain America circled each other. They were locked in a currently eternal dance of move and countermove, waiting patiently for further input. He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, setting off another wave of throbbing pain above and below his dark brown eyes. Since their address to the United Nations he and his sister Shuri had barely had time to breathe between meetings with foreign dignitaries and the relentless pace was beginning to catch up with him, he was forced to admit. Also, during one particular meeting the woman he was speaking with, a diplomat from…was it Romania? Albania? Czechoslovakia? He couldn’t recall through the cotton-wool fug that seemed to have taken up residence in his head, anyway she had obviously been ill, coughing harshly through the entire meeting and it seemed as if it may well have been catching. He looked once again at the papers, almost reached for the top one, then switched his attention to the holograms, an easy, mischievous grin briefly flickering across his regal features. As he did so, his nostrils started to flare. His nose suddenly itched abominably and he tried, unsuccessfully in the end to hold back the impending sneeze while he barked an attack sequence at the flickering costumed mirror image in miniature in front of him.

“Sweep kick, left ankle, rolling transition, arm….Hiihhh..armbar…righ…iiihhhhh…..right arm…rake…face to…iihhh…IIHhhh…iiihhhhKKKKTTTiiishuuuu…iiihhhhKKKTTIISSHHHuuu…excuse me….left shoulder, immobilize shield arm.”

“Anomalous input detected in sequence” a robotic voice announced as the Panther-image flowed into a seamless dance of lethal grace., “filtering.” The holographic representation of Captain America tried to lock his legs around light-Panther’s neck from the armbar. “Sequence has 68.3% probability of complete immobilization of target. Profile codename “Captain America” has 14% chance of securing a complete reversal in one of the following ways.”

“68.3%?” T’challa muttered to himself, frowning, “Not good enough. 75% is the absolute…ihhhh…iiiihhhKKTTTTiishhhuuuu…KTISSHHiuuu, absolute minimum acceptable with a veteran like Rodgers.”

Again his nostrils flared and the final words were muttered into the back of his wrist as he covered another two violent sneezes.

“Working hard your majesty?” a soft voice laced with equal tones of chiding, teasing and concern asked, from over his shoulder. He turned around to see Nakia behind him, holding an ornately patterned Basotho blanket in one hand and some sort of spherical vibranium device in the other.

“You’ve been shut in here for nearly 24 hours, although how much of that has been spent playing games I am now not sure. You may be the living embodiment of the Black Panther, but you still need your sleep, and it sounds like you’re sickening for something as well. By the way, why Captain America, isn’t he an Avenger?”

“Yes, but as we saw in Leipzig…ihhhhh…iihhhh…IhhhKTTSSHHHiuuuuu…the Captain’s values and my own diverge in some quite fundamental ways, and since Wakanda will always be my primary concern, it is best to be…iiihhhhhKTTTTTSSHHHiiuuuuu…be prepared. And it’s only a mild cold, it will pass very soon.” T’challa replied, pausing only briefly to sneeze loudly into the back of his wrist, though he did consent to wrap himself into the besotho, sighing happily as the vibranium laced weave moulded itself to his form and warmed him to the core.

Nakia gave him what could only be described as “the look”, “Get some sleep now T’Challa, or I’ll ask Okoye to make sure you do, she won’t ask you quite as nicely as I did.” She ordered, then her features softened, “Shuri and I are heading back to New York later tonight, please do come and see us before we leave.”

“Well, I did want to investigate some strange weather patterns in Kenya, but I think I can manage that before I do” he replied, a prolonged yawn emphasising just how tired he actually was, “and I don’t think Okoye need be involved, rest it is.”

“But just one more sequence first, I have just worked out the correct strategy I think…”

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tragedybunny · 4 years

Text

The Blade’s Edge - A League of Legends Fanfiction - Chapter 12

They had a simple arrangement. She was the weapon to be used on his enemies. Things get more complicated when emotions bleed into what should simple. Now the two of them find themselves on the precipice of something that was entirely unexpected.

Inara rolls her eyes. “If you’re done with your dramatic entrance, can we get started?” She gestures impatiently to the ponderous house below us.

“My apologies, I must have mistook myself for the one in charge of this mission.” I give her a flat look and she finally cracks a smile as Lark sighs at us. “Don’t worry Lark, banter is over. You both know who we need to move on if this doesn’t go in our favor. Wait for me, we’ll move as one in that case. If I don’t come back at all, leave, pretend none of this ever happened.”

Inara gives me a dark look. “Should one of us let him know, in the case that you don’t come back?”

It hadn’t crossed my mind that he would need to be informed if I should fail. Nothing that happened in the city seemed to escape his knowing. Yet suppose he didn’t know this time? Would he believe the worst of me, that I had betrayed him and vanished into the night? “Go to the servant’s door, ask for Gwen, my maid, she’ll see that he’s told.”

“Your what now?” Oh, gods. At least that’s brought the mirth back to her expression.

“What? Am I supposed to get into those fancy dresses all by myself?” I know she’ll laugh at that, I need to hear it just now. The weight of this moment is starting to settle onto me and I drag my hand through my hair. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

“Of course, whatever you say...Madame Swain.” That even manages to draw a chuckle from Lark. It catches me off guard though and I feel a blush creep up my cheeks. I’m granted a reprieve as neither of them offer a comment on it.

I ready myself at the edge of the roof. One well placed jump and I’ll be on the house below us. “See you on the other side.”

I take a few paces back and give myself a running start. I spring off the roof, for a moment it feels like flying, and the other roof rushes toward me. As I land, I roll, spreading the force and breaking my momentum. The darkened turrets make an ideal entry point. They, much like the House guards, belong to a bygone era, and many, like Jericho’s, ended up as neglected spaces.

The archaic window gives way easily, admitting me into the blackness within. She should be just returning from the festivities at the arena, bloodshed for the masses, the condemned dying in the most spectacular fashion, and a lucky few winning pardons. Cobwebs and dust have gathered over crates and bits of furniture, as I suspected, it’s been abandoned to time. I put my foot out and test the spiral staircase that leads downward, it seems sturdy enough. I descend, stepping lightly to avoid the groaning of the ancient wood, passing the attic, and stopping at the next floor. I lean down to the keyhole, holding my breath, there’s every chance this door has been sealed over. Light shines through, one small victory. I put my ear to it and listen, there’s no noise emanating from the house beyond. I crack it ever so slightly, holding my breath as it creaks in the emptiness. No movement, no signs of life. Perfect, I slip out and shut it softly behind me.

Voices begin the carry up from the stairs, she’s in the company of her guards, as expected. I only need to be patient for that to be remedied. I slip through the gaudily furnished hall in shadows, the Ingritts apparently have a deep need to display their wealth. I make for the master suite, another exercise in ostentatiousness, entering the bedchamber to lay in wait.

She gives her final orders to the guards for the night before she enters, unaccompanied. Her back is to me as she shuts the door presenting me with a temptation to end her and avoid bothering with persuasion. But no, her support would be valuable. “Hello, Lara.”

“So you’ve finally come.” She laughs. “Your whole absurd operation has become too easy to anticipate”

I feel a spark of anger, we’ve been exposed. I reach for my daggers, preparing for this talk to go very poorly. “Then you know what I’m here to offer.”

She turns toward me, confidence making her movements unhurried, her features imperious. “Join this ill-advised coup and hand the Guild over to the Usurper’s little pet? No, I don’t think I will. There’s a reason your father rejected you.” The chain whip coiled at her side suddenly sings through the air. I leap back, avoiding the sharp blade at the tip, drawing the daggers I had gripped. “You’re weak Katarina, you need to be led. With your father gone, you simply found someone else to do that.”

She touches a deep well of rage that roils at her words, I feel something inside me snap. How many times will my past errors be weapons against me? How much more will I have to hear about my disgrace, my father’s disappointment? There’s only been one person, despite his failings, who has seen more in me. “I’m taking the Guild, it belongs to me. If you choose to stand in my way then so be it.” I let a dagger fly in her direction, her chain whip flashing out to block it, predictable. I use the moment she’s committed herself to that action and I close the distance between us, coming to her side.

She tries to change the momentum of her weapon, recovering faster than I anticipated. I leap back as she succeeds in bringing it back toward my direction. The blade catches me though, rending open the flesh of my thigh. Through the adrenaline, I can’t tell how deep it goes, but I feel the hot trickle of blood working its way down my leg.

I draw another dagger and feint to my left, keeping my eyes locked on her weapon. Her hand makes the slightest movement, I wait. The whip begins to fly towards me, I dive to the other side, hurtling myself full speed at her. Her weapon, committed to where she thought I’d be, is useless to her. The blade in my hand tears into her throat, ripping it open. Blood erupts and she uselessly grasps at the wound. “Tell me again about my weakness, Lara.”

Her hands still and her knees buckle. She gasps her last breaths as she collapses to the floor in a sanguine pool. I finally become aware of a stinging in my thigh and look down to find a wound several inches long. I withdraw a bandage from a pouch on my belt and staunch the flow of blood as much as possible, I don’t need to leave a trail. We’ll need to move on the others now before word of Lara’s death gets out. I push open one of the windows, gritting my teeth against its whine of protest, must everything in this house sound like it’s falling apart. I take a blind leap into the space between this house and the next, haste is more important now than secrecy, and sprint at full speed to the temple.

Lark and Inara await me in silent anticipation. They know as soon as I appear that the recruitment wasn’t successful. “Our other three need to be done, now. We’ve been found out somehow, keep your wits about you and show no mercy.”

Inara shoots a glance at my leg, the blood now darkening the bandage. “Are you sure you can handle this?

“I’m fine!” It comes out harsher than I expected. Her eyes widen, but she says nothing. “Fucking hell.” I tear off the reddened bandage and replace it quickly, tying it tighter than before, while giving orders. “Use our next agreed on rendezvous. Approach it cautiously, we don’t know who knows what.” I take a breath as I finish. The steady flow of blood is concerning, but I won’t let them see that.

We scatter, each moving with lightning pace. It’s only a matter of time before the body is discovered and we lose the advantage of surprise. My last target tonight brings the saga of me, my family, and the Guild full circle. My father’s cousin, Marius, he’d taken primary leadership of the Guild when my father “disappeared”. He’d nearly begged me to assume a role by his side with Talon leaving on his doomed search. It had nothing to do with familial loyalty though, I was the best chance he had to secure his position. I’d told him what I’d told Jericho initially about all this, and it had been the truth at the time, I wasn’t a leader. When I left home for Jericho’s he’d dared to come howling at the gate, demanding a word with his “dear cousin”. It was one of the rare times I was thankful for Moira’s bullheaded tendencies, demanding was not an attitude that would get you nowhere with her. Instead, he’d left me a letter filled with rage and curses. He even dared to guilt me about mother being all alone, I’d tossed it in the fire as soon as I read it.

I never told her I was leaving, I just did, and let the gossip circles tell her where I was. It was satisfying to rip that control from her hands. She’d hated me for as long as I could remember. Her political scheming and maneuvering meant everything to her, and my birth went wrong, keeping her out of society for longer than it should have. At least that was the tale told to me by my nurse. Or maybe it was the whispers I heard when I was older that she never wanted children, but I was thrust on her by duty and expectation. Either way, the result was the same and none of it mattered much now.

After the revels at the Arena, Marius would be in his favorite brothel, Father and I had collected him from there a number of times. The well-appointed mansion in Goldstone that looked so ordinary from the outside and yet within the upper class of the Capitol indulged their every fantasy. It had been built when Goldstone was established for that very purpose, rising as a hidden playground among the newly constructed buildings. This whole area had once been a slum that was razed by fire. The new money moved in after and made their own enclave in direct opposition to the nobles shuttered away in Old Town. Of course, everyone knew that the fire was intentional, but for the poor who lived here, there had been no justice. With his endless wars needing endless resources, Darkwill was uninterested in the crimes of the rich.

Tonight it works in my favor, the two districts being intentionally close, giving me not far to run. The gash in my thigh is a constant stinging and I feel the bandage growing moist again. The modern aesthetic had every building in Goldstone built to nearly the same height and I easily glide from rooftop to rooftop, closing the distance to my target. A figure looms before me, standing on a roof, still as a statue, clad in red, pale and unearthly. Him. I stop short, reaching for a dagger. “Far from home tonight, aren’t you little Kat?” His voice is haughty, yet rich and seductive at the same time.

For a moment I wonder if he was the stalker, but no, that wouldn’t be his way. This fiend rarely deigns to involve himself. “What do you want?” The dagger slips from its sheath.

He laughs, a cold and mirthless sound. “You would try to challenge me, you hopelessly fearless child. I’m only here with a warning, from her.” She must be desperate to impress me if she convinced him to act as a messenger. “There is no going back from what you plan to do. So far you have been considered merely a pawn in this game, but this will change your standing, make you a target. Turn back, return to your family. You would not need to fear vengeance from him, the Black Rose will protect you.”

I roll my eyes at his words.“Like they protected Cass and my father? I’m through with others deciding my fate.”

“Yet you do this all for the man who made you a pawn in the first place, his personal weapon. In the Black Rose, you could command a greater destiny.” He holds out a hand, the invitation awaiting my response.

I’m out of time for this. I know what loyalty to them means and I’ve had enough of it in my life. “Fight me or let me pass, either way, shut up.”

He sighs in an intentionally dramatic manner. “As you wish.” Then he bows gracefully and takes a step back off the edge of the roof, vanishing into the night. Fantastic, another vague happening to worry about. We’ll have to figure out what his appearance portents later.

With the way clear, I fly across the last few buildings, making a clean leap to the roof of the brothel. Fortunately, Marius usually makes use of a suite on the top floor. I’ve lost too much time to worry about subtlety. I drop down, grab the edge of the roof and propel myself forward, kicking in the window. The glass shattering in the still night sounds more like an explosion. I land and immediately draw blades. There’s a couple of frightened cries as both a young man and woman scamper from the bed. “Two cousin? Your greed really is boundless.”

He scrambles about, looking for a way to defend himself. “This is how you choose to do this Katarina?”

In truth, Marius has always been enough of a warrior that I’d rather it not be this way. But if I want the Guild there is no choice. “Get out!” I snarl at the two confounded whores and charge him. I don’t need them being a distraction. They’re quick to comply, but I won’t have long before they alert the house’s guards.

He finally retrieves a single dagger and brings it up to block my downward slash. I over-committed while he was unarmed and can’t get away as his fist slams into my face, knocking me off balance, I lose my grip on my dagger. I reel backward, tasting blood in my mouth, as he gets his feet under him. Changing tactics, I reach for another dagger, balanced for throwing. Marius no longer knows me as he once did, I doubt he’ll predict what I’m doing. I throw it, intentionally sailing it to his right, leaving myself an open target for him.

He takes the opportunity, pouncing at me, dagger ready for the kill. I spring out of the way, preparing my own strike. He reads what I’m doing, changing trajectory, managing to drag his blade along my stomach. It’s not deep, more of a scratch, but still, I feel a warm trickle coming from it. I’ve had enough.

I don’t fall back, taking him by surprise. I spin, and land a kick to his knee, knocking it to the side with an audible pop. He brings the knife up in a wild defensive gesture, but I’m no longer there. Now I’m at his back, and my dagger drives deep into him, piercing a lung. He turns when I withdraw it, still trying to fight me. I plunge it into his heart, ending this.

He falls backward, eyes wide in shock, the second of my family that I’ve stolen the life from. No time to contemplate now, I hear the thud of boots on the stairs and put my fingers to his neck to check for a pulse. Nothing. I make my exit quickly just as I hear the door behind me start to open.

Our last meet is at one of Lark’s little hidden homes, this one a suite of rooms at the heart of an abandoned manor in Old Town. Instead of an ancient, crumbling mausoleum deserted ages ago, this one seems to have been cared for until fairly recently. The family was very likely targeted in one of Jericho’s purges. Lark is already there, casually perched on a faded damask sofa. “Oh, your poor face, good thing we waited until after Solstice. I take it you succeeded with your cousin?”

I smile, it feels hollow somehow, but I need him to feel confident in what we’ve done. “Of course, and it looks the same for you.”

The door crashes open with Inara’s entrance, her body language exudes rage, but her eyes are strangely calm. “Somebody fucking warned him, he’s in the wind.” There’s blood spattered everywhere on her and she clenches and unclenches her fists in rapid succession. “He had his people covering his escape, I tried to get through them.”

I need to get her calm and rational. “Still, he’ll go to ground, he won’t be in the way while we secure our position. We’ll deal with him if he returns.”

“Whatever. Now what?” Both of them turn to me.

“None of them will act without leadership in place. They’ll be scrabbling around to take it for themselves. Lark, you need to make sure they meet tomorrow night, that’s when we take what’s ours. For now, we part, keep yourselves secure.”

The adrenaline has started wearing off as we part ways into different ends of the city and without it, I feel the icy air razor sharp against my skin as I make my way back home. The burning in my thigh has never let up and I feel a thudding ache across my face. And yet, I am triumphant. And what of Marius, another of my kin, dead for mine and Jericho’s ambitions. We had trained and sparred together once. He was not quite as old as my father and served as a mentor when I was young. He too though turned on me when my father sought to replace me. And they all turned away from the greater good of the Empire when the finally relented to mother and chose the Pale Woman. Let him rot, he clearly was informed about what I was after and didn’t make the least effort to even contact me. Unless it was him that’s been following me. Time will tell.

For now, I need to concentrate my efforts on finishing taking control of the Guild. Despite my initial hesitation, this would have been the path meticulously laid out for me as a child. I’m tired of being just Du Couteau’s failed daughter or the Grand General’s whore. I want to make my own fate, to leave my own legacy, to make the Guild truly mine. Despite it being for his own ends, I do owe Jericho for pushing me in this direction. His ability to read me so well is still deeply unsettling at times.

I sneak through the house as silently as possible, no windows this time. My lamps have been left on, that was kind of him. The sting of the wound demands my attention and I dig through my wardrobe to withdraw a small box. As I cut away the remnants of my clothing around it, I realize that the best way to truly see it is to perch on my dressing table and use the mirror. It’s deep, but no major vessels have been torn, although blood still slowly drips from it. No way around it, it needs to be stitched. I growl to myself as I clean it and dab it with a numbing agent.

I thread the needle while I wait for it to do its work. When it’s a good as it will get, I draw a deep breath, I’m still going to feel some of this. “I distinctly remember telling you to be careful.”

“Seriously, right now! Shut up, for once, Jericho.” The last thing I need at the moment is a smug I told you so.

I go back to attempting to start the stitches. “You’re going to butcher that. We should get a healer.”

“No healers.” I spit through gritted teeth. I hate healers.

He storms over and rips the needle out of my hand, dropping into the chair in front of me. “Turn around.” He motions for me to turn the wound towards him.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” This isn’t the first time I’ve had to do this, I don’t know about him.

“Don’t you trust me?” He echoes my words from earlier in the day, is he really teasing me right now? I make a frustrated noise, give in and turn for him to look at it. “Already numb?” I nod. “Don’t flinch.”

He drives the needle through my flesh, I clench my jaw and dig my fingers into the edge of the table. I still feel each puncture and pull, somewhat muted, but I’m still clearly aware of them. I close my eyes and concentrate on breathing, inhale, exhale. Finally, I feel him stop and tie off the last stitch. “There, not bad at all.”

I look down, from what I can see, he did a better job than I would have. I’m loathe to admit it though. “Only slightly crooked.” He doesn’t respond, instead, he begins wrapping it in gauze. A small pang of guilt tugs at me, that was unnecessarily mean. I look anywhere but at him. “Sorry.” I nearly whisper.

“Don’t worry about it Kitten.” He kisses my leg softly, just above the line of gauze, my heart thuds. “Tell me how it went.” I think about everything that transpired and realize how truly, deeply tired I am. All the adrenaline has finally worn off now that I’m home and no longer bleeding and a slight foreboding- for the future takes its place. My life has changed inexorably. Without much thought, I slide down into his lap and lean my head against his chest, yearning for that comfort I feel in his arms. For a moment he doesn’t respond and I worry he’ll push me away again. Then I feel his arms wrap around me and he kisses the top of my head. “I hope you don’t start expecting to be spoiled like this all the time.”

“No, just most of the time.” He doesn’t retort as usual for us, instead, he quietly strokes my hair for a few moments. Sometimes, I’d give anything to know exactly what he’s thinking. “Anyway, it’s been a hell of a night.”

I stay leaning against him as I detail the night’s events and I hear as he sharply inhales when I mention the warning I was sent and the messenger. “I wasn’t expecting him to be bothered to get involved.”

I look up at him, feeling a little betrayed. “You knew it was possible though. Be honest with me, there is more to this than you’ve let me know and the Black Rose is involved.”

He hesitates, how deep does his trust in me go. “The visions indicate there is a conspiracy of some sort. It has been endlessly frustrating trying to flush them out. Putting the Guild in your hands was one of the many steps I took to get Black Rose loyalists out of power. Other than that, I’ve been chasing shadows and waiting for them to make a mistake.” I can feel the animosity and irritation in his words, but still, he’s kept this from me.

“He let me go and I ended Marius, but we were exposed before we started tonight. And I’ve been followed, as you know. If I had all the information I may have planned this differently. If you want me in this with you, no more secrets.” The steel in my tone surprises even me.

He considers my words and then lets out a sigh. “I suppose it was unfair to keep it from you.” My eyes get wide, that was entirely unexpected. “Don’t look at me like that, I can admit when I was wrong. I will remedy that in the future. But for now, go get some sleep, you look tired.”

Reluctantly I stand, gingerly putting weight on my leg. “Coming?”

“No, I...” I glare at him, I’m not the only one who looks tired. “I’ll get the lamps first. Be right along Kitten.”

#swain #jericho swain #katarina #swain/katarina #league of legends fanfction #League of Legends #katarina du couteau #the blade's edge #swain x katarina #my fanfiction #katarina league of legends #swain league of legends #my writing

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tarralin · 5 years

Text

Fraternization

a Clauses and Contracts story

Chapter Two

Thank you @tsundere-mitsuhide for beta and proof reading!!

TW: mentions of medical treatment

~☆~

Duchess stared down the mahogany door as if her eyes alone could demand more time from the polished wood.

It had been decided between the three of them that Duchess be the primary contact for the medical staff after the last relapse. Even Shingen's seemingly infallible good spirit had plummeted with that hit and Yuki nearly blew up in the office when the news reached him. Neither Shingen's heart nor Yuki's temper could take another head-on attack like that.

Duchess could handle it. One good thing about growing up in the way she did was learning how to detach herself when needed and the doctors were confident this would be the last of their personal plague. There were good chances the call may never come…

What foolish thinking.

Most of the solitary drive to the coast after that dreadful call had been spent in silence as she refused to break down until she could sit at the water's edge. Only then did she allow her own emotions to flow freely under the moon when no one was around. Once the worst part was over and her shoulders finally stopped shuddering, she hopped back in the car and made her way to the condo that had been her home for the last of her high school years to break the news. Today was as good a day as any since everyone would be gathered together, no point in suffering further by delaying the inevitable.

Sunday was ‘family’ day and her attendance had been demanded for many years now. ‘Dad’ would not tolerate tardiness of any kind either. Even on days when his ailment got the better of him, her phone would fire up if she wasn't there by breakfast. She wasn't late today, but she wished she had prepared herself a little more for the looming conversation ahead. Finally steeling her nerves, Duchess turned her key into the lock.

Yuki manned the stove as usual while Sasuke chopped breakfast vegetables for the omelets. Kenshin would most likely be sitting with Shingen out on the balcony.

“Morning, Duch--” Yuki started as he flipped sausages in the pan before her expression caught his attention. “You look like you've seen a ghost. What happened?”

“Well, I drove all night from the coast for starters…”

“The coast?” Sasuke froze in his chopping and set the knife aside, addressing her with his full attention now. “You only go out that way when something troubles you. What is it?”

Great, no way out of this with both of them alert now.

“After breakfast?” She pleaded. “No one will want to eat if I say anything now.”

A muscle ticked in Yuki's jaw as he plated the cooked meal in front of him. “It was the latest test results wasn't it?”

It took everything within her to keep from breaking down on the kitchen floor but a merciful deity somewhere lent her the strength to keep standing. The silent tear that slipped from her eye was a different matter.

“After breakfast,” Yuki nodded stiffly.

She sighed a breath of relief. It could only be put off a few more hours, but they would have one last normal breakfast together…

~*~

Duchess tapped her heels into the floor impatiently, the carpet preventing any evidence of her frazzled nerves.

Of all possible days to be late… why today?

This idea of Shingen's had sounded ridiculous at the last family breakfast when she had played the part of harbinger. Even more baffling was the fact that Kenshin agreed to it. Then it was announced she would lead this laughable venture. She knew the value of a powerful connection but did it really have to be her facing her best friend’s husband? Especially after her own post-wedding breakdown several months ago?

She had just started pacing when a familiar flash of red bolted around the corner leading to her private office.

“You're late!” She hissed as Yuki stopped in front of her, only one arm properly suited by his blazer. “They're already in there!”

“Sorry, I can't control a funeral procession.”

She huffed as she helped straighten the disheveled jacket onto his shoulders. “You can leave earlier, you know, not five minutes before you're guaranteed tardy.”

“Whatever,” he threw his hands in the air before reaching for her door handle.

Duchess planted her hand on the edge of the door, preventing Yuki from opening it. “Before we go in there, beware I'm not holding any punches. I need to know you'll be able to handle that.”

“I'm good.” Yuki rolled his eyes.

“You sure? You swear on your St. Thomas beach house?”

“Ugh, what is it with you and that property?”

“It's St. Thomas! I honestly don't understand why you don't fly out every chance you get.”

Another eye roll and a sigh of resignation. “Fine! I swear on my St. Thomas beach house that I am good and I dare you to throw your hardest hits.”

“Double dog dare?” She grinned now, knowing her attempt to lighten the mood was working by the visible drop in his shoulders. The phrase from their childhood usually only appeared in these moments before a business battle, but still always worked as intended.

Without waiting for a verbal answer, Duchess swung the door open and allowed Yuki to enter before her. A decision she immediately regretted when that familiar honey-laced voice snapped out a ‘lap dog’ comment.

Great, back to damage control again...

“Now, now, gentleman,” Duchess chastised lightly as she graced the room and pulled the attention to her, squashing whatever rebuttal Yuki was about to snap out. “We're here to play nice and discuss business.”

Nobunaga, Hideyoshi, and Mitsuhide each claimed a spot on one of her two matching couches while Sasuke and Yukimura held place on the other. A company lawyer stood to the side while the three visitors finished signing confidentiality contracts.

“Business with such security that you couldn't inform us of it in your invite?” Nobunaga questioned.

“And forcing us into essential gag orders?” From Mitsuhide.

“Ah,” Duchess acknowledged as she took a place on the couch opposite Nobunaga. “Apologies for any inconvenience but I will not risk any leaks of information that could cause panic among our shareholders or the public. Aside from Kenshin, Shingen, and us three, everything we discuss here today will be the first it has been spoken to anyone and it has not been written anywhere within the company database. As far as any outside this room are concerned, I invited you to my office for a friendly luncheon--”

A knock sounded from the closed door.

“--And that would be our cover.”

Yuki answered the door and retrieved two large bags clearly marked with a restaurant’s logo from downtown.

Nobunaga's eyebrow arched in amusement as the fragrant mass was set upon the coffee table. “Mercutio’s?”

“Princess's recommendation.” A shrugged shoulder from Duchess while she pulled a covered box with her name on it. “I did say it was a luncheon. I'm not so evil as to lie about feeding someone. We'll discuss business second.”

Nobunaga ate quietly, typing away on his phone. Duchess was the same, barely completing three bites between buzzes. Yuki happily chewed away on his bite of steak while watching her fingers. Once she put the device down again, he snatched it away and dropped it into the seat cushion crevice.

“Excuse?!” She whispered vehemently as she got up to retrieve it. “Give that back!”

He slid to cover the crevice where her hand was reaching, forcing her to retreat. “You can have it back after you eat.”

“I am not Shingen, I don't need mothering.”

“Apparently you do!” The red-suited vice president snickered as he batted away her attempt to push him out of the way.

“Same for you,” Hideyoshi spoke for the first time since entering the office, mimicking Yuki’s actions and pulling Nobunaga's phone from his fingers.

“It's Princess, not work.”

“I don't care, she'll understand. Eat.”

Everyone finished their lunch in silence after that as the two heads of the room pouted through the rest of theirs. With the awkward meal out of the way, Duchess rose from her seat--after unceremoniously snatching her phone back from Yuki's clutches-- and leaned upon the edge of her desk, crossing a heeled ankle over the other.

“So, now for the real reason you're all here. Uesugi-Takeda Technologies would like to open discussions for a possible merge with Oda Tech.”

Hideyoshi had just started sipping his water when that piece of information almost choked him. He managed to catch the gulp and direct it down the correct pipe before verifying the absurdity she had just spoken. “A merger? With us?”

“Precisely,” she grinned triumphantly. “I'm sure you're all wondering ‘why on Earth is UTT interested in a merger?’ And ‘why in the hell would they ever consider Oda?’ Correct?”

A bark of laughter escaped Nobunaga. “My thoughts, exactly.”

“Sasuke.”

The vice president in question passed identical grey portfolios-- all bearing the UTT logo-- to each of three men in front of him before returning back to Duchess's side. Hideyoshi immediately opened up and began poring over the information while Mitsuhide glanced over the second half of the reports. Nobunaga laid the folder over his crossed thigh without breaking Duchess’s gaze, that overly smug smirk never leaving his features.

Duchess suppressed an irritated sigh as she continued. “These progress reports cover the last three decades for all major rivals in our targeted market. Oda Tech is, of course, the most well-rounded corporation as well as the most successful. Joining forces would ensure both of our companies’ futures and finally lay this ongoing rivalry to rest.”

“That answers the second question,” Mitsuhide commented while his eyes remained trained on the documents in front of him. “What about the first? Why are you interested in a merger at all?”

Duchess paused at that, glancing to Yuki who gave her a stiff nod before crossing his arms over his chest like a shield from an inevitable blast. The silent communication seemed to reinforce her own resolve as well for she pushed from her perch at the edge of her desk and squared her shoulders.

“Takeda is dying.”

The room fell into a deafening silence as disbelief played openly upon two of the men's faces. The third simply sported a grimace as if her statement had confirmed what he already suspected.

Hideyoshi blinked several times as he recovered, glancing from her to the two vice presidents. “Is there… are there any treatments?”

Sasuke nodded. “Several procedures have already been performed, from removing the masses to radiation therapy. Remission is achieved each time but only for a short time until it returns just as violently as before.”

“Surely there must be other methods?” Mitsuhide questioned.

“Oh, I'm sure there are,” Yuki chuckled darkly. “Takeda refuses further treatment… and his decision is firm.”

Silence enveloped the room again as they continued to process this new information.

“Should we decline the merge,” Nobunaga was the first to direct back to business. “What does the future of UTT look like?”

Duchess’s smile turned back into the polite businesswoman. “Then we continue as we always have. Should Kenshin choose early retirement, Sasuke is more than prepared to take his place. The same as Yukimura is to take Shingen's. I, of course, would remain here as well.”

“Should I choose that…” Yuki grumbled in a low voice Duchess hoped the visiting executives didn't hear.

We are not hashing that out here.

“I know there are many variables for you to consider before coming to a decision. However, time is something I fear we don't have a lot of--” Yuki shoved from his place on the couch and marched from the room, ignoring the arched eyebrows and questioning glances. “Please, forgive him. This has been especially difficult for Sanada… May I ask for a solid answer in ninety days?”

“Should be sufficient enough,” Nobunaga agreed before the usual smugness found its way back to his lips. “I would, however, like to have an associate of mine here to evaluate and determine if our company values are a good fit for each other.”

“A reasonable request. Just give me a name and I'll get HR started on credentials.”

Nobunaga's grin grew into pure amusement. “Wonderful.”

~☆~

Master List // Ao3 // Ko-Fi

Bookmark Fraternization on Ao3!

❤💕Tag List💕❤

@notsafefortum-blr @pseudofaux @jennacat84 @el-dungeon @valfraeyja @creaky-the-absolute-trashman @captdrobvious @refrigerated-bread @starry-wei @sengokuotaku82 @kaisimplerandomness @pirateprincessyuki @kitsune-mana @sevenswifey @aromantic-misguide-to-romance

Prologue | One | Two |

#ikemen sengoku #My writing #modern au #ikesen hideyoshi #ikesen ocs #ikesen yukimura #ikesen sasuke #ikesen shingen #ikesen kenshin #ikesen nobunaga #ikesen mitsuhide #clauses and contracts

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leadaboss · 6 years

Text

That’s The Devil’s Music { Closed RP }

The sounds of a sweet, somber symphony carried throughout the area much like a forlorn echo. An echo that sounded pitiful in it's own right. The instrument-- a piano-- carried on swiftly, the white and black keys struck simultaneously with one another in a continuous manner. The vibration of the grand piano-- which was painted in all black--, rumbled against the hardwood floor with each stroke. Not a single beat was missed in any form or fashion. In fact, the harmony was absolutely perfect for it to be created by one single individual alone.

But, .. there was something about the melody. Something that made the musical art seem.. robotic? There were no missed notes; None at all. No personal flair added into the tune. Of course, if such a piece was played in a concert, the music would be more than satisfactory. It.. It just appeared as if the instrumentalist just.. didn't care.

Suddenly, those pale fingers came to a halting end. The classical instrumental was no longer thick in the air, and there was nothing but pure silence hanging around. The keys of the piano gradually recoiled to their normal state, and the musician's hands simply settled down to his sides.

...Soft clapping soon replaced the silence that lingered in the air-- The clapping of one, sole individual. It was hard to tell if the clapping was mocking.. or if it was actually genuine.

Eventually, the taunting applause settled down until the silence was no longer burdened by the vibrations in the air. The pianist, however, didn't bow. He didn't even acknowledge that his performance was appreciated.

"... Well done, Koen." Death remarked, having been that specific and only person that had applauded Koen's talent. The being was stationed in his cushioned chair in a parlor-like place. It was much more of a theatrical lounge area than anything else. His posture was relaxed, unburdened by any concerns or thoughts. Death actually liked classical music, to by quite honest. Classical music hardly had any verbal words during an orchestra set. It was music that could mean anything that you wanted it to mean.

"..Well?.. And do you have any.. feedback towards Beethoven's masterpiece?" Death inquired of his reaper creation, curious as to what Koen would say to him.

The reaper didn't cut a single glance over to his practical father. Instead, his half-lidded eyes focused on the shiny keys that were laying still before him. However, with a slow roll of his raven eyes, Koen merely shook his head lightly towards Methuselah's question.

"Boring." The reaper voiced, in a blunt tone-- his pitch lacking from care. "... Same as the others. They are all boring. I don't care for any of them.. I am annoyed like hell that you keep asking me to play this bullshit."

"Now, Koen.. I know that.. you are a whole, new you. You aren't in tune with your new characteristics, but.. it'd do you some good to watch your tone. I'm the one getting annoyed of telling you that." Death responded back to Koen, his facial expression not faltering away from it's nonchalant appearance.

"..Anyway, how about this? How about... you play me something that... isn't 'boring'. Every musical piece that I have asked you to perform has all been 'boring' to you. So, .. show me what you wouldn't 'categorize' as boring." The older-appearing man suggested, giving Koen the option to play any song that he wanted.

For the next few moments, Koen's movements were absent. It was almost like he was completely disregarding his father's request. Because, why did any of this matter, anyway? Koen just wanted Death to stop "testing" him in the aspects of "troubling emotions" and "hindering feelings".

Still, with yet another shake of the reaper's head, Koen rose his hands once more to hover of those ivory and ebony keys.

With no warning from his end, Koen's fingers begun dancing along the piano keys at quite a fast pace. He'd begun playing a much more different rhythm than the "Moonlight Sonata" tune. This piece was much more... secular-- Much more bluesy, and with so many bopping beats. Soon enough, Koen's hands were all over the piano, his chords changing every so often throughout the song.

His foot was quickly pressing against the pedals that were located underneath the piano key spread, causing the notes to twang on in a nice flow.

Methuselah only observed in silence, his eyes narrowed down at the display that his son was showing him? Blues and rhythm? Really?.. Death would have never thought that Koen would prefer such profane music.

Hidden away from Death, there was the smallest smirk that appeared upon Koen's face as his piano-playing intensified. He didn't know why this was stimulating him.. It was fast, disorderly, and all those notes were ultimately wreaking havoc on the piano. It.. was just perfect.

However, Koen allowed his fingers to abruptly stop beating against the keys. Honestly, his fingers and hands were twitching.. just a little.

Death's eyebrows quivered upwards just a smidge when Koen's jiving number came to an end. Well, that was definitely something different.

"That's the Devil's music, son." Death finally spoke out, giving his initial thoughts on the music. He wasn't being completely serious in his wording, but.. it did show him something new about the reaper.

"You personally chose that song to play, so I assume that it isn't.. boring. If it's not boring, ..then what is it?" Death inquired of Koen with a curious tone, his eyes not breaking away from looking at the reaper.

"... I don't know." Koen said aloud as he was gradually trying to take a hold of his bearings. His hands weren't vibrating any longer. In fact, they made their way back down to his sides. "... It's.. deadly. Lethal."

Lethal? What on Earth did Koen even mean by that? That didn't exactly make any sense to Death.

"And.. that.. exactly.. means?.." Methuselah slowly enunciated, trying to get more information out of Koen. That didn't give the older man much to go off of. Hell, HE was Death. "Deadly" and "lethal" didn't exactly mean anything to him.

"It means.. that I'm not so certain." Koen declared, his head finally turning to take a view of his creator-- who was lazily rested in the comfortable furniture. Koen's eyes were bland, not interested or energetic in any way. "..Perhaps, I just mean that it's... that it's fucking boring me to death."

".. Still with that tone?... I guess it's better than the former-- You.. constantly pissing me off over some loose girl. So, your vulgarity is an improvement to me in comparison." Death added, slowly shrugging his shoulders upwards to display his apathy. Koen didn't crave that Yukimori girl to Death's knowledge, so Koen's tone.. his mood.. can easily be worked with.

"..Mm." The reaper groaned more to himself than to anyone else. Although Death decided to "customize" Koen's mood and his behavior, there was still something about Yumi that tugged at him. He'd never admit it right now, but.. it was definitely there. The thought of her now wasn't because of.. longing or admiration. It was because of something.. much darker now. Maybe betrayal? Disappointment? Those were only a couple of possibilities. "Right."

"You have a meeting with the higher ones today? A definite conclusion for the situation that happened at the Yukimori's house months ago?" Koen asked, decided to alter the conversation so that he wasn't the primary subject.

"Correct. Life, Harmony,-- even Chaos will be there. I'm tired of board meetings, but.. none of them will be satisfied until I.. 'compromise' with the majority... Can you believe they want me to bequeath my title to someone else for a while? As if any of those sloths can handle my work..."

---------------

"Alright, soooo-- Senior year is about to start-- We're talkin' cramming, crying, and cussing-- The whole nine yards. This upcomin' fall semester is gonna make us or break us, ya know what I mean? We've only got--what? Three more weeks? Three more weeks before we gotta get back on campus and work hard." Alexander expressed to Yumi, his fiance... who has actually been his fiance for a few months, now.

It was pretty close to closing time at The Rabbit Hole, and today was one of the days that Yumi and Alexander worked a shift together. Because they were on their summer break, the two of them were able to take later work hours.

But, to be quite honest, Alexander didn't know how much longer he wanted to stay there at the cafe. He'd put in a couple of years there, and he liked it there just fine. But, it.. was just that his "other job" simply came with more money. And with his engagement to Yumi, Alexander wanted to accumulate more than enough earnings to give Yumi the wedding that she wanted. He just knew that Yumi would do all but agree with that decision, but.. that would be a different conversation for another time.

"So, I'm thinkin'--" Alexander resumed, while sitting down a glass of bubble tea specifically for Yumi down on the counter of the bar. "I'm thinkin' we have a little getaway? I've got a couple of places in mind-- And I know this is probably too damn sudden, but... look--"

At this time, Alexander removed two coins from the depth of his pocket. One coin was a quarter, and the other coin was only a penny. Dropping both of the coins from his hand and letting them clatter to the surface of the counter, Alexander narrowed his eyes and tapped his index finger against the quarter.

"Alright-- Heads says we'll goooo toooo.. Las Vegas. Tails says we'lll goooo.. tooooo New Orleans. --You gonna be the one flippin' the quarter, too. Oh! And the penny is the wild card. If you choose the penny, you don't have to flip it. The penny represents the.. special place I wanna take ya. A secret.. kinda."

@lonelysnowprincess

#That's The Devil's Music RP

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kusunogatari-a · 6 years

Text

[ Kalon || @sasuhina-renaissance-week ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Healing Waters and Scorching Flames ] [ A beauty that is more than skin deep - beautiful, as an outward sign of inward good, noble, honorable character. ]

If you’d have told him where he’d stand today only a handful of years ago, Sasuke would have laughed...and then scorched your skin for such an insult. Him? A prince of the Fire Nation? In love with a measly waterbender? Please. It’s not only a remark against his heritage of pureblood firebenders, but a personal one as well. As if he’d ever let one of those weak, water-blooded fools anywhere near him unless on their knees, pledging allegiance to the new empire.

...but much can change in such a short amount of time.

His mission had been to capture the Avatar: one he’d accepted gladly for glory in his father’s eyes. Second born behind a sick and frail elder brother, he thought that enough favor from their father would have usurped Itachi’s birthright and granted him the title of Fire Lord. He’d not always been so lustful for power...but time had seen him torn between worry for his brother’s health...and ridicule that a weak man would mean a weak nation. Better he to lead.

But in the end, he’d abandoned that wish for power, and instead helped the Avatar himself master firebending, and overtake Fugaku to bring the war to a close at last. It hadn’t been an easy path - they’d clashed more than once, as well as the rest of his little entourage. The temperamental earthbender, Sakura; a nonbender from the south pole, Kiba, and his polar bear dog; and the little waterbender, Hinata.

The last had been of little consequence at first. Benders were so rare in the south after their raids, she had no one to teach her. But every time they met, she got a little stronger - a little surer. And eventually, Sasuke could no longer ignore her strength - both in bending, and in spirit.

The war’s closing meant slowly beginning to amend the damage done. While Itachi tends to the Fire Nation, Sasuke remains with his new band: touring the lands he helped conquer under his own’s banner.

Things are...stable now. But far from as they were before Madara’s conquest began. Sasuke has every intention of amending what his family has done. And he’s glad he doesn’t have to do so alone.

For the moment, they’re back in his homeland. Naruto has brought leaders from the other nations to address Itachi and begin putting new laws and sanctions into place to assure this never happens again. As always, Sakura remains at his side as an anchor for his...often-lofty ideas. Kiba, ranking in his nation’s navy now, is part of the negotiations and ensuring Fire Nation military downsizing.

And Hinata is among her land’s council as steps toward peace continue.

Sasuke, still a prince to his brother’s title of Fire Lord, mostly lingers in corners. Itachi at times seeks his advice, but Sasuke doesn’t yet trust himself near positions of power. Not after what he nearly did for it. What he nearly sacrificed.

Most don’t seem to notice, too involved in their new roles. But one spares the time to ensure he’s not left alone too long.

It’s evening, the capital dusky as negotiations carry on into the later hours. Elbows leaned against a balcony railing, he turns at the sound of the door behind him, expecting a summons from Itachi.

Instead, he sees Hinata.

Dark brows lift slightly in surprise. “...have they finished for the night?”

“No...but it’s a topic I’m not part of.” She moves herself abreast him, hands daintily mimicking his arms.

Sasuke finds himself shying from her slightly. “...looking for fresh air?”

“Mm...and some less argumentative company.” She gives him a glance, a slightly glint of humor in her gaze. “I know this is all important, but...sometimes I just need a little time away from it all. And most of the talk from my nation comes from those older than me, anyway. I’m really only here because I traveled with the Avatar…”

“It gives you good insight.”

“I suppose...but part of me wishes I wasn’t so sought-after. I’ve not had a quiet day since then, and it’s been...what, five years now? I’m just...tired.”

He considers her for a moment. There’s none of the posture he saw when they first met. No longer is she timid, unsure, or avoidant. She stands with a kind of regality even now, though he’s sure she doesn’t intend it. It’s simply...natural. Her gaze is a thousand miles away, staring out over the city and not noticing his staring.

...it’s then it really hits him how beautiful she is. And not just on the surface. Her strength, so hard-won after her struggles. Her patience at all she’s faced. Her grace inherited from the flow of her element.

The pit of his stomach drops as he realizes...he’s grown quite fond of her over the years. Naruto is a good companion - his liveliness and positivity balance out his own brooding and pessimism. Sakura doesn’t mince her words - he can always expect what he needs to hear from her. Kiba...well, the nonbender is obnoxious, but loyal - he’s taught the prince a lot.

But Hinata…

At first, like the others, she didn’t trust him. Perhaps more so - she’d been quite smitten with Naruto back then, and as the boy’s primary threat, she’d reeled on him with a tenacity he’d not expected. But in the end...they had far more similarities than differences. Though driven, Sasuke has never been brash. The other three are far more outspoken than he.

Not Hinata.

At the base of their natures is a similar quietude. Though he’s been arrogant, and at times scorching like his element, what’s been left in the wake of his new path is...different. His temper has cooled. No longer does he seek attention, or recognition, or power. He merely wishes to make his amends, quietly, without fuss or flare. After so long of feeling torn, and angry, and looked down upon, he wants nothing more than to find peace. For himself, and the world he owes.

...she’s been good company in that regard.

Water can be violent. It can drown what angers it. And true, Hinata has a fierceness to her, but only when necessary. Otherwise, she’s been a quiet pool to calm the rest of her companions. The voice of reason and caution, but just as strong when there are no other options.

He wishes he could be half the person she is. He wishes for her patience, her resilience, her level head and her steadfastness.

She knows who she is. What she wants. Even if part of it has fallen through, she adapts with that same grace, head held high. She’s grown into a woman of beauty, inside and out.

“...Sasuke…?”

A blink. “...yes?”

Her head tilts, looking to him in concern. “...are you feeling well? You were a bit...vacant for a moment.”

Sasuke glances around - how long was he…? “...I was just lost in thought.”

She softens, but only just, in understanding. “...there’s been much to think about lately,” she agrees quietly. “Who knows how long we’ll be here...these talks have potential to last weeks.”

“...I’ll not mind them so long as it means you’ll be here.”

Her gaze widens slightly, and he realizes he’s said too much.

“...you balance out that blond buffoon,” Sasuke attempts to amend, tone rushed in an obvious excuse. “This will all be tedious enough without his volume and...enthusiasm.”

At that, Hinata can’t help a laugh into her sleeve. The sound brings him a small flutter of contentment. “...well, I’ll do my best. It’s good he has the energy, though. Otherwise I fear we’d all be asleep in our seats!”

His lips twitch. “...fair enough.”

Silence falls between them, but it’s neither unwanted nor uncomfortable: amiable, and a pleasant change of pace. Only once some time passes does she murmur, “...I should let you retire for the night. And I’d best do the same - I could be called back for anything at any time.”

Sasuke swallows back a tinge of disappointment. “True...Naruto can only keep you awake through so much.”

She smiles. “...I’ll see you tomorrow, Sasuke.”

“Until then...Hinata.” Watching her go, he only turns back once the door shuts behind her with a soft clack.

Her absence is deafening.

Still leaned along the balcony railing, Sasuke heaves a sigh.

“...what are you getting yourself into, you fool…?”

This feels a little off, but I haven’t written this verse in quite some time ^^; Apologies if I’m a little rusty lol I’ve had this verse for a while, though it normally only has one set pairing. But what’s an AU unless you have like ten branching AUs from it? So in this one, we’ve got SasuHina, taking place a few years after what would be the ending of AtLA. But, I won’t ramble too much - I’ll probably do AUs for all of my entries for this lil ship week (because honestly they’re so much more fun for me to write than canon verses lol), so keep an eye out for them! Some are crossovers, but some are also based on my original novel work. We’ll see what each prompt best fits as the week goes on! Happy shipping, fellow SasuHina lovers :3 See y’all tomorrow!

#uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #sasuhina #healing waters and scorching flames [ au ]#sasuhinarw #sasuhinarw18

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occupationalhazards-series · 6 years

Text

Zero Hour: Track One (A Side)

[image- a drawing of a vinyl record with “Zero Hour A Side” and “Ciela, The Heir Not Quite Apparent” as the text in the center.]

Content Warnings: blood, self injury (in a non self-harm context), referenced child abuse and kidnapping, referenced abusive food restriction

In a stone lined room, a small girl lies in a bed. Her slick navy horns turn indigo in the first hints of sunlight, and the light casts a similar bright violet hue to her aubergine hair. Even the small disturbance of natural sunlight is enough to wake her, eerie mercury eyes snapping open even as her body stays stone still. Her breath pattern changes, but only barely.

She tenses minutely, and waits.

One breath, two, each nearly as silent as the last. Even with her vigilance, she hears no approaching guards and fails to sense the approaching magic of her attendant.

This small assurance is all it takes for her to spring into action, shoving a light blanket and sheet to the foot of the bed. The plain night clothes she wears don’t change at all in the light of the rising sun, their muted cream color remaining dull and boring. Her skin, however, does, the soft bronze shining a bright, magical copper in these few minutes she has to herself.

She drops to her hands and knees just as quietly as she had woken up, and reaches out under the bed. In one smooth motion, she slices her left ring finger on the prepared razor blade and smears the bloody digit on the hidden compartment under the bed. She catches the journal when it falls from the compartment, and shimmies back onto the bed, crossing her legs and settling herself into her morning routine.

First she closes her eyes, recalling and reviewing. Judging by the angle of the sunshine coming through the window, her attendant shouldn’t arrive for at least an hour. It is day four of the week so far, which means... breakfast, then free archive time. After that comes etiquette review, and that precedes sword training.

Joy.

She lets out a sigh and resigns herself. This is the day’s routine, and knowing is far better than not.

Especially on weeks when Lord Prince is around. Her huff isn't even forceful enough to move the longest part of her bangs, but her eyes flash a bright platinum.

Onwards, then. She opens the precious journal far more delicately than necessary, unable to stop herself from feeling the all too important inscription on the inside cover as she reads it aloud.

"To Our Beloved And Adored Hatchling-

May your scales grow strong,

may your magic grow true,

may your stories be told.

We love you."

Her voice is airy, but not light. It has the soft tone of someone who has had cautiousness beaten into them, and the surety of one reading an absolute truth. At this moment, the very edge of night conceding to day, only the latter sentiment matters.

Her steady breath wavers, shaking as she remembers. She wishes she was older when she left (when she was taken)- there simply aren't enough days to recall no matter how far she reaches back into her memory.

Nine years just isn’t enough, especially for her kind. (Yet four years is far too many. Funny how that works.)

She has to steel herself- mentally, of course. The strict dietary regimen Lord Prince makes her keep leaves her far too underweight to brace herself with a full body of scales like her mother.

Every day is too much, and every memory is not enough. It's not a surprise- nothing that happens near daily can truly be labelled a surprise- but it cuts jut the same.

One breath, then another. Moving on, she flips to the back of the book, and then carefully flips forward by several pages. There isn't a single word on any of these pages- just hundreds of tallies, carefully, furiously scratched in. They total in the thousands, and each one represents one day away from home.

Ciela leans over the bed and nearly falls off in her rush to grab the last hidden item from underneath it- a slick and elegant metal dip pen.

She settles back into position, noting the time as she carefully presses one preternaturally sharp fang into her left palm, slowly pulling her palm away and letting the blood well in her hand.

There is no way in all the Courts she'd use something as easily manipulated and identifiable as ink.

The blood of any and every Drake is a powerful magical artifact in and of itself, but the actual substance of an individual Drake's blood is even more useful than that- any Drake could and frequently did hide their secrets with it. (Blood is home. family. secrets. love. self. ancestry. futurepastnow.)

Blood casting is an instinctual, near primitive form of magic, taught to the youngest of hatchlings. But it WORKS.

The simplicity rebounds into strength- there must be a Drake, of sound enough mind to channel magic, and something important enough to spill blood over. Will and blood.

They are all that saves her.

One breath, then another. Focus. She writes in her journal while she can.

Dearest Elders-

I have no good news. I’m not sure I have any news at all. My attendant continues to give me leniences and graces that are sure to get them in trouble. I don’t know why. They gave me a whole bunch of ambrosia berries yesterday. My magic feels bouncy and airy and like I could fly.

I want to unbind my win

Why can’t my magic feel like this all the ti

IM SORR

I am growing, but not enough. My wings are so small I’m worr

I am small even for a human my age. I know I won’t be as big as you, Mother, but you and Father are not small people. My fourteenth winter approaches, and yet the ten-summer children of the archivist are taller. As Dauphin never ceases to mention.

The ambrosia berries were good. I’ve never had something so sweet. They taste like ceremonial wine and frost lightning and honey (It’s no wonder Dauphin pays so much for their wine.)

I want to taste some properly grown by sky fae one day. I’ll share some with you too, I promise. I haven’t grown into a selfish person without you. Not yet

I’m trying so hard , please believe me

I suppose I did have something to tell you today. I’m sorry it wasn’t important. I have to have faith that you still care about unimportant things

me my day.

I love you

-Ciela

She doesn’t cry. There is no one to trust with her tears.

Nothing to do but hide her secrets once more. She cleans her dip pen with the pitiful flames she can muster from her lungs she slips it back in its makeshift hiding place along with the journal. One more drop of blood and a burst of wild magic makes the whole thing disappear to the senses. Her hand twitches, spasming into a fist.

She can’t get rid of her rabbit pulse heartbeat.

So she takes a deep breath, and as she slowly releases it her eyes widen. Her primary, secondary, and tertiary eyelids open, and her irises glow a brilliant platinum.

The world comes into preternaturally sharp focus. Every color, every detail, stands out in sharp relief. It’s not just enhanced vision- truesight reveals magic, hidden or unhidden, wild or controlled.

Ciela takes four careful turns. Nothing can be suspect. Nothing is.

She had to be sure. She nods, satisfied, and changes the flow of excess magic to heal the small abrasions on her hand. It only takes a few seconds- they were no more severe than a papercut.

Pacing and preparations done, she heads over to the window. A hop and a scrunch and she’s settled into the rim of the bay window. She tries to look at the sky, tries to feel the clouds and calls of her own from within her cage. They don’t come to her, and it’s no surprise. She has been looking and reaching for one thousand four hundred and thirty eight days, and the closest she’s come is feeling the faint echoes of a Wyvern Call.

Either the wards are that strong, or the closest of her kin was over a hundred clicks away.

Whatever. At least she can see the sky in this room placement.

She’s too tired to glare, but the look on her face as she stares at the sky she hasn’t felt in years is withering none the less. Ciela sits near perfectly still in the closest thing she gets to tranquility for twenty eight minutes before she heads back to her bed. The stone floor is cold, and she pretends not to feel it.

A soft “pat pat pat” marks her elegant trudge back to bed. Her attendant will be in soon.

She doesn’t sigh as she pulls up the covers. Tears don’t escape without permission. Her mattress isn’t stiff, her blankets aren’t too thin, her skin doesn’t feel frail.

She thinks she’s pretty good at lying these days.

She nods off before long.

When its time for the attendant to come by, Ciela is still dozing. She wakes up just as the attendant reaches out to touch her shoulder. This is no surprise to the attendant- they have been stationed over Ciela for nearly two years, and are well aware she is a light sleeper. “Your schedule has likely been moved around, but your meal is still first on the agenda.”

Ciela nods and walks over to the closet to grab her formal day attire, assigned by the Dauphin’s attellier. She grabs an undershirt and bloomers first, one each out of the twelve identical garments in the wardrobe. Next comes the loose floor length trousers. A dull navy, they match the dark grey hip length wrap blouse’s accent and ties.

“Why? My schedule was just revised.” They turn towards the opposite wall while the young girl dresses. Their voice is low and smoky and androgynous . It seems to echo and gain volume and clarity the closer they get to the shadowy corners of the room.

"Why else? Prince is in a mood today”, they murmur. “He’s always in a mood. My lessons don’t usually get changed because of it.” They sigh, and the shadows around their cloak seem to ruffle. "Mmmm. True. It will hit the public announcements later today-the Crafter's Guild has decreed that all Ranked Crafters are prohibited from engaging in business with the Prince family. Apparently, they’re concerned about the implications of Lord Prince’s recent land acquisitions."

This warrants a pause from the younger of the two- “Really?”

“Mmm. Well, nearly every consultant Lord Prince has warned him against it.”

“ I remember overhearing something about it. Didn’t Lord Prince bid rather aggressively for an old manor that was seceded to the Fair Folk territory nearly three centuries ago?”

“Yes, and he won, too. All of his other bids have been close to Ley Lines, or near enough to another Court’s sacred territory to be just this side of politically... impolite. No one knows what he’s up to, but it doesn’t matter in the short term. This embargo will be a major blow to the business deals his family and the Court of Graves have that are in negotiations.”

Ciela makes an intrigued noise as she pulls on the blouse to tie it. "Wait. I thought that guilds couldn’t declare grievance against specific families without violating Court Law?"

The attendant hums and counters "Service embargoes technically aren't, but they tend to be risky enough anyway. I'd be surprised they had the temerity, but this isn’t a standard case. Can you tell me why?"

Ciela opened her mouth to respond, but remembered to stop and think it out first. Her brow furrowed as she carefully detangled her hair from her horns. Tight, unrelaxed curls at the scalp of her horns always tangled with the wayward stretched waves. "Because... they didn't declare a formal grievance? No, as a guild they couldn't anyway. Not against a whole family... although some might argue that the rule doesn’t apply if there’s only one person left in the family line."

"True, although any of the leading members of the guild could, and that would have it’s own implications." They said this mildly, patient enough to let the kid reach her own conclusions.

She sits down to tie the blouse and mull over her answer.

“Oh! I got it I got it! Because the Crafter’s Guild only forbid their ranking members from collaborating with the Prince family directly, and not every guild member or a specific person.”

She’s finished getting ready, but flexes her hands so she can focus to get a more complete answer. “Prince has been very aggressive in his politics lately. Is it possible the Crafter’s Guild was looking for any way they could find to keep their most skilled members from a contract with Lord Prince? Formal service contracts are supposed to be voluntary; each individual trades-person could choose to interpret such an embargo as ‘the head of the Prince line and all of his close associates.’ That leave most of the Society of Magisters leaders and management without access to some of the most reputable trades-people around.”

The shadows deepen with her attendant’s pleasure at her analysis. Encouraged, she goes on. “ I’m not sure why ethical disputes over land purchases was the thing that made them take such drastic action? If they really wanted to avoid dealing with our guild couldn’t they have publicly taken issue with... most anything Prince has done in our name for the last few years?” Her consternation isn’t all over her face, but is in the increased speed of her hand flexing, her lightly furrowed brow, and the rigidity of her shoulders.

Her attendant sits down with her, warning that they have to leave soon before explaining. “The Crafter’s Guild is one of few guilds that is politically friendly with, but not a subset of, any particular court. They are also one of the most diverse guilds, with members of many Courts, backgrounds, and specialties. The land disputes were probably picked because they would be the most plausible reason on paper. It is well known in certain circles that the heads of the Crafter’s Guild have a grudge against key Grave Court leaders-any other stunt they pull with less legal merit could be construed as as a personal vendetta using a community platform.” Ciela nods, her twitching hands slowing down. “Since they have so many specialists, they can easily claim that associating with the our leader could threaten the livelihoods of the crafters within their own guild by consequence or association.”

Ciela gets up to prepare her school supplies for the day. Some in her bag, for using in the classroom after first meal, the rest laid out on the pitiful desk adjacent to the window. “That sounds like a lot of ‘maybe’. Is there another reason this happened?”

The shadows fluttering around the attendant’s floor length coat seem to languish with their amusement as they too head towards the door. “One of the leaders of the guild flat out hates Lord Dauphin, and the other is loyal enough to her and dislikes our Lord enough to back her up.”

Ciela almost smiles before she steps out the door. Lord Prince hates that nickname. She never has the courage to say it out loud.

It doesn’t last for even a second after she crosses the doorway’s cold vacuous energy. The child’s head dips, her back straightens. They both quiet, and prepare to play their roles.

Both of them know that this fleeting moment of peace is the closest she’ll get to happy for the day.

Both of them will take it. For now.

Thank you for reading this debut! Zero Hour is brought to you by:

Ash Pana (Writing, Design, Pencils)

Jessica Song (Design, Inks, Tones)

Sasha Reneau (Zine/Print Formatting)

#zero hour #light novel #occupational hazards #fantasy #original series #black main character

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missjanjie · 6 years

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Don’t Feed the Plant (3/4)

Title: Don’t Feed the Plant Summary: A ‘Little Shop of Horrors’ based Phan AU. Phil is a poor orphan working in his adoptive aunt’s run-down flower shop in London. After buying a suspiciously strange plant with a carnivorous appetite, Phil’s life changes overnight, even bringing him closer to crush and coworker, a troubled and near destitute Dan Howell. Soon enough, though, Phil realizes that fame and romance comes with the ultimate price. Chapter: 3 - Suppertime Word Count: ~1.8k Relationship: Dan Howell/Phil Lester, Implied Dan Howell/Male OMC Rating: T Chapter Warnings: Some Gore TW

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Phil never liked going to the dentist as a child and was a bit difficult when it came to his annual checkups. He would dig his heels in and insist to his parents that he would not go – only to be bribed out with sweets.

No amount of sweets, however, could make this dentist appointment less nerve-wracking. The fluorescent lights seemed blindingly brighter than usual, every little noise kept him on edge. His eyes darted from patient to patient – the young mum with her infant in a pram, the teenager texting away, the parents trying to comfort a crying girl – no older than eight – who was about to get braces on. None of them acknowledged his existence, but he could swear they all knew something was off about him, as if they could all see the pistol he had smuggled in his messenger bag.

“Mr. Lester? You can head into room four,” the assistant came out to say.

Clutching his bag close to his side, Phil walked down the hallway until he reached room four, sitting himself down on the exam chair. Time seemed to move even slower while he waited for Robert, and what was probably five to ten minutes felt like hours.

“Well hey there plant boy, fancy seeing you here,” Robert tossed Phil’s chart on to the counter and sat himself on the stool

“You come so highly recommended,” Phil was trying desperately to not let his voice give away how nervous he was, though the dentist hardly seemed to notice, getting back up and thumbing through his papers.

“Haven’t had a checkup in five years huh?” Robert shook his head. “Oh boy I’m gonna have a lot of fun with your mouth,” there was something in his tone that Phil could only identify as evil.

With a shaky hand, Phil started to reach for the gun when his back was turned, apparently looking for something.

“Here’s the good stuff,” he grinned as he picked up a tank of laughing gas, putting the mask to his mouth and inhaling deeply. He let out a cackling laugh when he pulled back, his face crazed.

“I-I thought it was mostly anesthesia these days,” Phil remarked offhandedly, trying to make casual conversation while he calmed himself down. He only had one shot at this, he had to make it count.

Robert chuckled at that. “Oh, this ain’t for you,” he hooked the mask properly on his face, turning the tank on, the gas continuously flowing through the mask. “Calms the nerves, if you know what I mean,” he winked. He moved about without stopping the flow of narcotics, getting the tools he would need to wreak havoc on Phil’s mouth. The tank jostled back and fourth as he walked until a loud clang stopped him in his tracks.

Phil peered over to see the tank and realized the intake valve broke, causing the laughing gas to flow more intensely. He watched Robert frantically struggle with the mask, only to notice it was stuck as well. He watched as his pupils started to dilate and his complexion started to fade to a sickly grey.

“Fuck, this thing’s really jammed up,” Robert was no longer able to hold himself up, slouched on the ground against the wall. He looked at Phil expectantly, waiting for him to get up and help. When it was clear that help would never arrive, he appeared to resign himself to his fate, but quietly asked “What’d I ever do to you?”

“It’s not what you did to me. It’s what you did to him.”

---------

“Just pretend you’re butchering a pig, Phil,” Granted, Phil had never done that either. But it made the task at hand more palatable, he supposed.

With his heavy rubber gloves, thick smock, boots, and mask, he felt like he had an additional barrier between himself and the gruesome task. He steadied his grip on the axe and took swing after swing to the corpse, leaving the remains in easily-consumable chunks for the plant. Once he deemed the task completed, he shoved the body parts back into the black garbage bag that had carried the body and dragged it back upstairs.

Phil had to look away when Daniel II devoured what was once Robert Clarke, DDS. The chomping and crunching and squishing was enough to make his stomach churn. He did his best to quell his unease by reminding himself of all the horrible things that man had done to Dan, and that was just what he had seen and pieced together in the aftermath. It was probably much worse behind closed doors. Dan was safe now, he thought.

“Goodnight, two-ey. Tomorrow is a new day,” he gave the plant a pat before heading back home, having no idea what tomorrow would hold.

---------

Seeing Dan dressed in all black was not an unusual sight, in fact it was a primary staple in his wardrobe. He looked paler than usual, his clothing seemed to drown him as he walked. His eyes were red and watery, and he seemed to tremble a bit as he walked.

“Dan are you okay?” Phil surprised himself with how easily he put on a shocked and concerned voice, but even though he knew what was coming – it had been a week in the making, after all – seeing him distraught cut him like a knife.

“His office was in shambles, they think someone tampered with his nitrous oxide. The officers suspect…f-foul play,” Dan sniffled.

Guilt hit Phil hard, and he opened his mouth to offer his sympathies, but Dan continued talking.

“What kills me is just…I feel responsible for it,” Dan confessed. “Secretly…I’d been wishing for it. I willed it into existence,” he hugged Phil close, crying into his shoulder.

After Dan had composed himself, Phil cupped his face, wiping a tear away with his thumb. “This is not your fault. You have done nothing wrong. I know it feels hard to believe, you’ve been through hell and back with that man. But now you’re free, and I’ll be there for you every step of the way.”

Dan shook his head, standing back upright and starting to pace a bit. “You don’t understand, Phil I haven’t lead a good life. I don’t deserve someone nice and caring like you. I deserved a creep like Robert Clarke, DDS. Do you know where I met him? At a strip club. And not even one of those nice ones with rules and security guards. He pulled me right off the stage, Phil, told me how lucky a gutter rat like me would be to be with him. You can do so much better than me.”

“Hey, hey,” Phil reached out and grabbed Dan’s arm, stopping him in his tracks and pulling him close. “I don’t care about where you’ve come from. That’s not what matters to me. Yes, you’re beautiful, anyone could see that – even him. But you’re a gentle soul and warm, and kind a-and I just…I’ve never met anyone that makes me feel the way you do.”

There was a moment of silence, but it wasn’t a tense one. It was Dan silently trying to grapple with the idea of being loved by someone like Phil, who – as far as he was aware – didn’t have a violent or mean bone in his body. He recalled Max’s less-than-gentle nudging in his direction, and losing Robert helped him come to terms with his true feelings.

“I can’t believe I’ve been so blind, so foolish,” Dan finally said, meeting Phil’s gaze. They shared a long, loving kiss that – at least for a moment – made all their worries and anxiety disappear. They had each other now, bringing something almost like peace to them.

“Let me walk you home,” Phil smiled.

“You say that as if you’re going back to yours,” Dan retorted.

---------

“Looks like you haven’t gotten much sleep.”

Phil had left Dan’s flat early that morning to set up shop and check on Daniel II. Normally, he had a good hour or two before Donna arrived, leaving him startled when he walked in on her already there.

“I uh, had a long night. Was helping Dan with some things.”

“Oh, I’m sure you were ‘helping’ him alright,” Donna retorted, making a jerking-off motion with her hand, causing Phil’s face to turn a bright red. “Was it worth it?” she asked, “I like the kid, don’t get me wrong, but did you really have to off his boyfriend to get in his pants?”

The blood instantly drained from Phil’s face, and it was difficult for him to not look guilty in that moment. He cleared his throat, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what you’re on about, they say Robert’s still missing, they don’t know if he’s dead or not.”

Donna glared at Phil, slamming her hands down on the counter. “I saw you. I saw you chopping up his body like he was a slab of meat!”

Phil swallowed thickly, there was no good explanation for that. “Okay, okay. I chopped him up, but I didn’t kill him!” somehow that sounded worse.

“Lucky for you, I’m going to give you an out,” there was a sudden cold, calloused tone in her voice that left him unnerved. “You’re gonna fake your own death and skip town. Leave everything to me in your will, it’ll be like you never existed,” she didn’t give him a chance to respond, “I’ll go get the forms from my office,” as she went upstairs, he turned to face the plant.

“You know what to do.”

“I can’t.”

“Think about all those offers.”

“But—”

“Your future with Dan. Everything will fall into place when she’s out of the picture.”

Daniel II played dead when Donna returned, save for one of his roots that subtly tapped Phil’s leg.

“You’ll need to take care of the plant,” Phil blurted out. “It’s unique, requires a lot of special care,” he explained.

Donna set the files down on the counter. “Of course,” she walked towards the plant, which opened its’ mouth as she approached. “How do you feed this beast?”

Phil took a few tentative steps behind her. “Well, you just lean in…”

“And?” she asked, leaning forward.

It was a sudden shove, just enough to make her lose her balance and falling into Daniel II’s gaping maw. It snapped shut around her and, like before, Phil had to look away as it devoured its meal. In that same blind rush of adrenaline, he threw out the papers and removed any trace of Donna being in the store that morning. He scrubbed the shop from top to bottom like the crime scene it was.

Finally, it was done, and Phil braced himself against the counter to catch his breath. The reality of his actions was starting to hit him, his eyes widening in horror. However, he didn’t have time to process it, interrupted by a tapping on the door.

“Are you open yet?”

#phan #phan fic #phan fiction #phan fanfiction #phan fanfic

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zenosanalytic · 6 years

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Discovery: What’s Past is Prologue

That was GREAT! This is Long :| :| :|

Ok, so this episode managed to be both a mile-a-minute, actioned-packed THRILLAGANZA and a This-is-why-we-love-Trek Federation Lovefest, which is Quite A Feat owo

For any new Dear, Dear Readers thinking about venturing below the Cut: Over time I’ve found that writing conventional reviews for fan-media usually leads to me producing 10k word dissertations on them, so I do bullet-point reviews instead, sticking to core-reactions. This is STILL almost 3k words though, so, just be aware: when I say something is Long I ain’t kidding :| :| Also my reaction to stuff like Trek tends to be much more Ecstatic that my TSoW review, so expect... Informality o_o o__o o___o

Ok, so Discovery’s Landry was Fed!Landry afterall.

Looks like the Terrans have some sort of Holographic camouflage? Maybe it’s just something Stamets worked out on his own, tho, given how the Terran Empire works.

So Lorca got to the Fediverse the same way Kirk originally arrived in the Mirrorverse! I wonder if that means Fed!Lorca was transported to the Mirrorverse and died? Lorca’s ultimate Mirrorverse-fate was never explained so it’s difficult to say.

This ep’s mutiny/innership fight easily ranks up there with the best from DS9 and Voyager(the only two series with genuinely interesting/exciting examples). The battle over this city-sized planet-killing spacewarpalace is well-paced, tense, and both tactically and emotionally satisfying ouo

It also makes good use of the Terrans. We get to see some examples of their more aggression-oriented tech(like interior defense turrets and the like), examples of how powerful individuals hoard tech to themselves ala Mirror!Kirk’s Tantalus Field(Georgiou’s secret emergency transport, her bracelet, and the Stamets-designed fungal-tech integrated into the ship. Though I kept hoping she’d deploy that murderdisk from last ep again; no joy :T), and some examples of major philosophies within their society(a warrior-ethic in Georgiou’s appreciation for Burnham’s plan and fighting-ability, and her willingness to die fighting to buy Burnham time and display the ideals of her social station near the end, and Lorca’s “Man of Destiny” nonsense throughout).

“...he preyed on my Sentiment, my Weakness for your Face; It will NOT happen again.” Mirror!Georgiou is just so deliciously campy uwu uwu I like how the showrunners chose to make melodrama one of the distinguishing characteristics of the Mirrorverse :> :> :>

...Was that a The Fountain pan when Stamets walked into the Mycelial garden? It LOOKED like a The Fountain pan.

Saru is such a good captain u_u

“...The Terrans are egotistical enough to believe they can replenish this resource before it collapses.” HMMMMM WHERE COULD THESE MIRRORVERSIAN HUMANS POSSIBLY HAVE GOTTEN THAT TRAIT FROM???? Tho, as far as they go, this is probably one of the subtler Global Warming/Carbon Economy analogies to ever pop up in SFF media.

“Make the Empire Glorious Again!” We all, of course, See What You Did There :| :| Though again: much less hamfisted that the usual “Make America Great Again” references media’s filled up with over the last year.

Anyone else notice the gigantic gold frieze of Georgiou over the Imperial Throne??

Saru: “I will Not Consider leaving you Behind.” SARU IS SUCH A GOOD CAPTAIN }:| }:|

It’s a small thing, but Lorca’s continued and varied use of psychology as a weapon and tool of manipulation, something which goes back to the beginning of the series and his use of that distress signal to “motivate” Discovery’s crew, continues to impress me with the showrunners concern for consistent characterization, and their understanding of how complex characters and stories can be built from reiterating simple concepts and character notes in different situations.

Destiny’s not a thing, of course, it’s a fallacy of ego to believe that 1)occurrences involving you are about you and 2)that, because they involve you, they were meant to happen and play out as they did. Fundamentally, it’s self-narration; a recontextualization that, simultaneously, places oneself as the author of one’s life(since you are deciding what it means) and apotheosizes one’s life(and thus oneself) by declaring that narrative the product of divine will. That Lorca’s primary dislike for Stamets seems to arise not from his betrayal but from his rationalist rejection of Fatalism tells you a lot about his narcissism, and how central it is to his worldview.

There’s an interesting metacommentary about how “grittiness” is treated as serious, masculine, and realistic while optimism is treated as frivolous, feminine, and fantastical begged by Lorca’s conversation with Burnham here, and his assertions that the Mirrorverse is “the real world” and the Fed a “failed social experiment”. It’s also a good reminder of his nature as a scientist, and says much of how he thinks and justifies his behavior, that he would choose scientific metaphor for denying the reality of the Fediverse(though obvsl he’d need SOME way to do it to keep himself motivated to return, given that he’s way too egotistical, and too chauvinistically Terran, to just accept that both are equally real).

It also reveals that he REALLY doesn’t understand Burnham at all. She’s a culturally Vulcan Human, for Pete’s Sake; how deluded do you have to be to think that this sort of essentialist argument about biological “Superiority” and sociogenetic Eugenical(“Social Darwinism” in common parlance but, given this thinking predated Darwin and his theory, and other things, I don’t like the term) rhapsodizing would appeal to her, when her whole existence disproves it?

“...that’s why we have duty to lead”? That seems like a bit of a non-sequitur, but I couldn’t get captions to work on this ep so I can’t say for sure that this is what he said. If it is, that’s a really twisted conception of “Duty”, to cast it as the driving concept behind species-segregation and Eugenic Hierarchy. Also, he really doesn’t understand why she did what she did at the battle of the binary stars, or what that fight was about. He seems to think 1)she caused the fight, and 2)it was a conflict about preserving Federation “cultural purity” from some kind of Klingon “corruption”.

Lorca’s comment about Burnham’s “gifts”… taken in hand with the last ep’s “someone better came along, you know how it is” comment, suggest Lorca is incapable of conceiving of people in non-instrumental terms, especially in a romantic context.

Burnham’s explication of the existentialism and affirmation at the heart of the Federation is Pure and Good u_u

Stamets: “We’ll have to use all our Spores. We won’t be able to jump back home” Ensign Rhys: “We’ll need to be close to make that shot |:T” The Federation! ^u^

Ensign Detmer: “I don’t think we can avoid the blast”, Cadet Tilly: “our shields can’t repel the blast and we’ll all die” Saru: shakes head and clicks: *Inspiring Motherfucking Shakespearean Goddamn Speech*[1] THE FEDERATION! THE FEDERAAATION!!!! PEOPLE LOOK IT IS THE FEH-EH-EHDERAH-AH-AH-TIONNN!!!!!!!! :’D :’‘D :’‘‘D

But Seriously, THIS is probably one of, if not The, best Star Trek Captain’s speech ever.

The speech, the action, the at-turns practical, sappy, and optimistic Fed dialogue, the explication of Federation ideals in the face of true danger, challenge, and Doubt: THIS ep is just such a summation of everything that makes people Love Star Trek.

That their writing staff is aware enough to give Burnham the line, “But know this: I’m offering you my Mind; nothing more.” when making her faux-offer to sacrifice herself for her crew is one of the many reason I love this series uwu uwu

As always, Science and Tilly saves the days! I like how simple the solution is, though it’d have been more believably Physicist of Stamets to say not “but not just an explosion” but rather, “but an explosion is a Shockwave!” Also: Trek ships do Quite a Bit of cosmic surfing, don’t they? This sort of thing’s been the solution to dire situations rather frequently o.o

The warp bubble technobabble is equally simple(as opposed to TNG’s frequent reliance on nonsensical verbiage), but I don’t like the solution they went with. A Warp Bubble Warps space. The Mycelial shockwave produces an energetic wave(an explosion) in space, but it also ripples through levels of subspace(including the mycelial network). So theoretically, the Warp Bubble could be attuned in such a way as to interact with these subspace waves in a fashion which would allow Discovery to “ride” them into and through the Network. That’s how I’d have written it, at least.

I’d also like to reiterate, yet again, how well Discovery has integrated respect for Tilly, a mere Cadet, into the Federation ethos. They’ve handled this way better than TNG did with Wesley.

Lorca: “I truly admire you all. You proved such Excellent Clay for my genius leadership” Like I said “Instrumental” >:T Such good, consistent characterization!

Also: Lorca: *Melodramatic Villain Speech* Saru: “Whatever, Napoleon, show me my crewman!” SUCH A GOOD CAPTAIN.

Also Also: Federation pragmatic optimism vs the gothic egotism of Terra

Saru yelling “FIRE!” was SOOOOOO Satisfying owo

Shit Fuck-Uping Commences

Trek-talk will inevitably focus on things other than combat because, philosophically, that’s not really what the show’s about or what draws most fans to it(see above), but Discovery really does have, hands down, the Best fight choreography I’ve ever seen in a Trek series, and most of the movies too. It probably helps that they have Actresses and Actors, like Michelle Yeoh and Jason Issacs, with substantive experience in stage-fighting, but everyone’s performance in these melees is just so excellent, and the flow of them is so fluid and sure, that it HAS to be their fight crew. Also: have I ever seen a mace and its use portrayed with reasonable accuracy in a screen fight before? No; but here’s Burnham, just absolutely TRASHING people with that scepter like a Goddamn Boss :> :> :>

Though there’s an obvs level of unreality to this: you clock someone anywhere around the head, neck, or shoulders with a steel mace and they ain’t keeping fighting you. They’re going Down; they’re DONE

Georgiou’s fighting here is just so brutal and clean. The way she just turns around and slashes that guy’s throat. Her meaty-stabs to that other guy’s gut. Her throw into Lorca’s shoulder. Her KICKING HER OWN KNIFE OUT OF THE AIR WHEN LORCA THROWS IT BACK!!! Magnificent u_u Beautiful u_u u_u Majestic u_u u_u u_u

Lorca Egotism Watch: Unceremoniously Cuts down Landry for having the gall to fight Burnham. Yup |:T |:T She just can’t catch a break, but that’s what you get for loyalty to a person who only sees other people as means to an end.

One particular thing I like about the choreography is how they allow Yeoh to use her smaller size and stabler center of gravity to her advantage. Having her roll, dodge, duck under Lorca’s slashes, use throws and grab, attack Lorca’s feet; such excellent choices, especially given industry standard which is to ignore physical differences and have everyone fight like they’re a 6ft+ muscular man.

The mutual face-punch was a nice injection of comedy into this fight sequence(always a good idea, I think, to give the audience a bit of release from tension). Looks like Lorca gets in one of the trophic Star Trek double-fist hammer strikes in at the end. An utterly useless attack irl, but it’s Star Trek and the Forms must be Honored u_u

Lorca: “Don’t make me have to kill you!” Burnham: “You Won’t.” Bad. ASS. Badass. It is a natural byproduct of Vulcan Logic that their dialogue be the Tightest Shit at all times u_u u_u

Burnham’s fight with Lorca is Astounding, but I don’t know enough about fight choreography to really talk about it. Wow it’s cool to watch, though.

“We would have helped you get home, if you had asked” THE FEDERATION!!!!!!!! And more than that; hell, without the war, they’d have probably helped you kick the crap out of the Terran Empire.

Georgiou running Lorca through was Extreme Satisfying owo owo

Looks like my theory of TylerVoq undermining Lorca’s plans is nixed. I’m not upset though, as there’s something satisfying in allowing plots to be separate, rather than tying them all together in one big resolution.

Burnham running out of cover to telesnatch Mirror!Georgiou out of the fight as she energizes THE FEDERATION! THE FEDERATI- Ok, you know my reaction to this stuf. THE IDEALS! THE IDEALS!! This raw concentration of Ideals and Sentiment will Physically Killing me isttg u_u u_u u_u

They tied the science part of the escape to the action of the shipboard fight so seamlessly, and continue the tension of those scenes into the escape so excellently!

Another Little Thing that’s actually a Big Thing which I’m only now just noticing, probably because Oladejo(Ensign Owosekun) gets so much more screentime in this ep, is how good a job Discovery does at lighting and filming non-white skin and particularly dark skin, even when not a main character. I’m thinking of it particular in comparison to Agents of SHIELD which is absolutely atrocious on this point. At no point, even when they are in a dark area, or in red light, do Martin or Oladejo or any of the Black cast look washed out or obscured, as Henry Simmons almost always does as Mac even in some well-lit scenes. Just really excellent.

I REALLY HOPE that “Thanks Hugh” and aria isn’t the last of Culber. I continue to wish they’ll rez him, somehow. That was an objectively Romantic scene, though u_u

The ending revelation that they’re 9 months in the future and the Klingons have won the war is certainly surprising, but none of that’s official Fed history, so I’m pretty confident we’ll be seeing some time travel in the final eps. I’m a bit trepidation as to what Mirror!Discovery’s been up to since they’ve been gone <:[

[1]My Fast&Furious rendition of said speech: “Look I’m a coward from a species of cowards and I’m gonna tell you right now: I Ain’t Afraid. I might not know shit about shit, but I know this: you guys are Ride or Die. You’re the Best Motherfucking Crew of Motherfuckers a Motherfucker could ever Fuck Beside, and that’s For Real. That’s from the Heart. Lorca’s a POS, and he used the Power of our Shining Youthful Hearts to do some messed up bs, but we’re Family Y’all and this Ship: she’s OUR big metal space mama -Not his!- and today we’re gonna fly her like we just popped straight out her glowy anti-matter womb with a brace of .45s, a pack of Seagrams, and a surly temper. We got Shit to get Done, and we just ain’t goin down to his Triflin’-Ass Nonsense! So let’s fuck shit up! You have your Orders u_u”

#Star Trek #ST: Discovery #ST: Disc s1 e13 #What's Past is Prologue(Episode)#Discovery Spoilers #Gr8 Art #zA's Outside Viewing #TV Reviews #Reaction Posts #The Fast and the Furious

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