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necr0-mantix · 6 months

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The Spirits of Westmarch

It was so very hard to believe in gods that - simply put - were never there. But, I believe now. A group of 3 of us, and a half technically, Dezren had brought his child apprentice, all Priests of Rathma, were in close vicinity to Westmarch when word of the city’s destruction had spread to the north. Each of us had felt the terrible loss of life, but we could not comprehend what we had seen or felt upon seeing the smoldering remains of what was once one our world’s most renowned cities; it had been reduced to a ruin that still haunts me to this day.

Surprisingly, there were survivors. Those who had been close enough to the gates when the angels descended managed to flee, and it was by their word and their word alone that we had some understanding of the carnage that had befell the capital. I could not believe it at first, but the legends of angels had been passed down for generations within the order. We never saw them as the holy and righteous beings other people did, especially the church, but rather, the opposite side of the same instinctual coin as demons. This could have happened. There was no sense in denying it.

We all expected more bodies to litter the streets, but the stories of the recently dead turning upon the living made that all the less surprising. The only concern was that our art - necromancy - had been turned against us. And that chilling waft of essence still lingered in the air as we walked, denying us any chance at disbelief. All we could do was mourn, and seek any souls that may have managed to survive and linger within the hellscape.

I couldn’t help but whisper a doubt myself; this was not balanced. Death had overtaken life in this place in a manner that was unprecedented in our time. Thousands of lives snuffed out so quickly. I questioned to Dezren, away from the child of course, about if the man was still alive, how he could have let this come to pass? Would this not have warranted divine intervention of some kind? The serpent, even? Even the might of our order seemed as if it would not have been enough to stop the butchering, and this certainly would have been that race case we would have needed to intervene.

Dezren did not have answers. And it seemed that the rumor of our patron being long dead himself seemed to be so. That was not what broke my heart, however; I always had my doubts Rathma was nothing more than an idol that represented the best of what we could be at times anyways. It was Croix, the child student’s, cry that piqued my own rare sadness. We had never been the monsters society claimed us to be, and in the face of such horror, even an adult would weep.

But all we could do was let him cry. His emotions, ours, were all what made us human still. We were allowed to mourn the dead, just as much as we were allowed to use them.

The lack of looters made me feel comfortable to make the call that the boy could rest on his own. He could study from us if he so chose, but no matter how harsh our methods could be towards our youth when it came to our art, we could not bring ourselves to subject him to more than he could handle, especially as we ourselves struggled. And thus he would remain to weep upon the rubble of the square’s fountain.

I opted to do my investigation close enough to the boy that, should something do go awry, I could reach him quickly. But, I felt so little while also feeling the energy of the departed still lingering. As if I couldn’t pinpoint any souls directly, just that they had been here. And it did not take me long to discover why this was so.

I caught the flicker of a spirit out of the corner of my eye. It was faint. And small. A child’s. The girl was crying, as most children were upon being released from their body. I had little experience with the sort, and none of us wished to. But, it was as it was, and all I could do was approach her and kneel, setting my blade aside to show her that despite my appearance, I meant her no harm.

And she said nothing. And continued to say nothing as another approached from behind her, slightly older by perhaps two years, and with a solemn expression that was so typical for these affairs. I could only presume it was a brother, but never found out if that was so. They never spoke to me directly. I would never force them to. I couldn’t.

They looked at each other, and I couldn’t help but feel they knew what I was - it was hard to deny, we were the subject of terrible fairy tales to children - but they showed no sign of fear. They shook their heads in disagreement at each other, before staring with that blankness that never stopped twisting my heart. I wanted to ask them questions, but, before I fessed the nerve to do so, the girl had waved to somebody beyond me, and they began to walk, their gaze meeting mine just once before they pressed forwards.

And I would follow instead of moving further into the city. And to this day, I am thankful that I did.

They had begun to follow somebody who had beckoned them, a boy seemingly no older than ten years of age upon his passing. I was unable to hear his words, I did not follow close enough as to not potentially scare them despite them knowing I had trailed behind him, but I did see him signal a hand towards the fountain as their pace hurried. My instinct was that perhaps they had seen Croix, who could have been mistaken for a survivor. The dead did try to speak with the living on many occasions, even if they could not be seen, and children were more apt to speak to other children, and children were also more sensitive to souls than the grown.

I had not expected to see even more children’s spirits populating the area around the fountain, but it was so. There were enough to make me feel sick to my stomach, and worry for the sanity of our young pupil for seeing something so depressingly strange.

I was so distracted by the sight of the crowd that it took me a moment to spot our boy within it, and he was not alone as a living being. Nor did it seem that we were the only ones of our order here. He sat with what appeared to be an acolyte, but I had never seen the man before despite my aid in seeking them. And he was strikingly beautiful; he almost seemed to be a moving statue, his paleness as deep as marble, and his long hair glistening like onyx. He was uncanny to behold, and as he stood, taking Croix’s hand in his, it became all the more so; he towered over even I to a height that seemed unrealistic. .

At first, I thought they were to leave, and I was to stop them should they do so, the safety of the boy not in question as I trusted our own more than any, but they did not. Instead, the stranger seemed to only stand to gesture towards the children with his scythe gently, who rallied to him like mystified lambs. And I could hear his words despite my distance, the voice ringing like a strange nostalgia to me,

“They were left behind because their essence was too weak to be of use.” he would state with an educative tone, sitting down once more beside the apprentice, “And for that, I am thankful.”

Croix would question the stranger, as inquisitive as always as some of the children placed themselves beside him,

“Where are they going to go?”

It seemed he spoke for many of them. Some nodded at the inquiry. One of the youngest would approach the man, raising her arms to be picked up. And surprisingly, he both could and did, resting her upon his lap, sitting once more, as Croix also reached to aid in her comfort - but was unable to touch.

“To rest.” the stranger would state firmly with a fatherly gentleness, “After everything you’ve all been through, you deserve rest. And when you wake, you will be somewhere else, perhaps even be somebody else, but you will be away from here. And you will not be alone as you were.”

I could already tell by how the speech was delivered that this man was not a typical acolyte. Curiosity got the better of me, but I dare not approach and make myself more known than I was. Only a few of the lot would have not noticed me by now, but I did not want to interrupt, for it seemed I too had something to learn from all this.

The anxiety within the children was very evident, but it was fascinating to see how they took to this man and seemed to trust him. There was no protest, nor were there any tears. In fact, they seemed comforted by his presence, whereas I was unsettled by him. Perhaps they had been with him longer than I could have assumed.

“...and I need you to rest, for your own safety.” he would begin once more, “As you grow tired, you can allow yourselves to fade. It will be akin to falling asleep. You will feel no pain, you will feel no sorrow. Only relief as you cross. There is no need to be afraid.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at one of the children’s remarks to his comforting words.

“I don’t want to go to sleep mister!”

Of course she didn’t. There was always one in a crowd of children. Some things, even in death, did not change.

It seemed he too found amusement in it and chuckled, shaking his head a gentle no. Rare was it that such a dismal display would have some sense of heart to it, but yet, even there, it seemed humanity was being itself.

“Come now, Alice. What must I do for you to behave? Name your price, and I shall pay the toll.”

For the first time in so many long moons, I heard laughter.

And I took notice immediately that the crowd was smaller; some of the children had passed on already within that moment. And it was then that I realized what that man was doing. He was shepherding them.

“Mama never put me to bed without a lullaby!” the little girl demanded of the necromancer, her hands upon her hips and all. Clearly, she had been comforted enough to tease for play.

The youngest of them seemed to huddle closer upon the demand, sitting at the man’s feet and alongside him. Their desire for comfort even in death being something that a man such as I could admit brought a tear to my eyes.

“Oh, come now. I haven’t sung for many many years, my dear. But, if that is what you ask of me… I do remember my mother’s song. If you insist.”

“I do!”

There was a hesitation from the stranger, his exhale was a sigh and I could tell her request was something that pained him, but, like a man, he endured and would adhere. For who could deny a child’s final wish? Certainly not I, and certainly not him.

But he did indeed sing, and in what language, I still do not know. The tongue was so foreign that it seemed unlike any spoken by man, and with the perfect gentleness of his voice, I mistook it for the chime of angels. There was a beauty and grace to it that could move souls, and it indeed did; for Alice would disappear as she buried his face into his chest, his fingers toying with her hair before it was simply no more, her final wish fulfilled. And one by one, the other younglings would depart as well, leaving only a few of the eldest to listen to the hymn with a wonder that matched my own. There was a silence afterwards that felt as how things should have been, the man and the children exchanging sorrowful glances as they too began to disappear, the oldest among them nodding between themselves as they, I presume, fulfilled their duties of protecting the little ones.

I had never seen anything like it, and I pray that I, nor anybody else, ever will again.

When the spirits had passed, I stepped forwards, and my gaze met the stranger’s without words. It was Croix who would break the silence, calling to me, rushing to my side with teary eyes. I placed my hand upon his head to ruffle his hair, but I did not coddle; we were not supposed to, even though I truly wished I had in that moment.

“Master Kareem!” he blurted, his fingers grasping around my wrist as he pulled me forwards towards the stranger, “You saw all that?!”

The boy was oddly excited despite his sorrows. He wiped the tears from his eyes as he gestured a hand towards the stranger. They exchanged a nod and a smile, and I gave one in turn as well in a more proper greeting.

I was prepared to introduce myself and ask the stranger’s name, but he spoke before I could.

“...there is nobody else remaining in the city.” he stated, his voice losing it’s softness from before, now gruff with the choke of misery, “I made sure of it.”

Sitting back on the rim of the fountain once more, the stranger’s head would fall into his palms as he began to sob violently. It was rare any of our order would display their sorrow so profoundly, we were taught to manage our emotions and keep in best of control of them as we could, but this man was an acolyte. Nobody so new to our ways would be able to handle this level of destruction, let alone comforting so many children at once after their murders. Despite my own ranking, I let myself submit, and stepped forwards to him with Croix in tow. I had to show my appreciation for his efforts, and extended a hand to rest upon his shoulder. I would have smiled if he looked upon me in that moment, but he did not.

“Rathma would be proud of you.” I stated, not one to be the best with words of comfort.

The man looked at me with an awkward apathy to his expression, his eyes welled with tears. And in that moment I realized something more was off about this person’s appearance; his eyes were a moon-lit silver unlike anything I had ever seen before, and there was just something about them that harbored wisdom and age. There was a shiver down my spine that I hadn’t felt in decades as I peered deep into them.

I had to question it.

“You… all of that. You are no acolyte, aren’t you?”

There was no response; he held his head low once more, breathing in heavily.

The apprentice broke the newfound quiet with an unfathomable question.

“Rathma? Are you okay?”

In that split second, I thought him insane, but the moment that man looked to him and nodded a yes with the most broken smile I had ever seen upon a person, I knew. And the proof was him disappearing in the blink of an eye, not a single word spoken to us upon his departure.

We had seen a god.

The boy and I had agreed to not tell Dezren and Taylin about what we had seen, nor have I spoken of this event to many through the years bar the Deathspeaker, who did confide in me that she too believed that we had seen Rathma himself after her own brief sightings of him through the years. That these sightings were not exactly as rare as our legends made them out to be, and that the man preferred it this way. Which did leave me with more questions than answers, but I had answers. And that is more than many could say.

#}}. drabble #{first person not from Rathma's PoV}#{I need to get back into the habit of doing these one sitting drabbles}#{may slap this one up on A03 later idk}#{there are probably errors in this ignore them one sitting lmao}#diablo 4

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saltwukong · 2 years

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Nitpick November, Entry #2: Power Scaling

We're not even going to approach the absolute mess that is Cinder and Neo, especially in Volume 8, today. It's basically just about the Grimm. Because every Grimm shown is either chump change or completely insurmountable depending on what is needed of them at the time.

The opening fights of Volume 7 show this off pretty well.

The Grimm completely fail to react to any of the bullets being fired by these robots, which for some reason look back at their fallen ally in shock like a human would (a nitpick within a nitpick--why would they do that? They're robots) as is pretty much the norm. This is in spite of the fact that these robots are made of metal much harder than flesh and use the same types of ammo that the heroic cast use.

This comes after two very important things: one, robot soldiers shown being at least moderately effective against the Grimm in earlier volumes,

and two, Grimm apparently just not being able to even see you if you aren't radiating emotions.

That really was a stupid way of playing that aspect of Grimm lore.

I don't think it's likely that these Sabyrs are just really really strong, these Grimm morphs apparently being weak enough that Oscar, himself a newbie to fighting, can apparently kill one by smacking it hard enough with a cane.

Conversely, if a Grimm is shown alone? It's absolutely the most dangerous thing ever, and it will present a huge threat no matter how easily our well-established heroes should be able to carve them apart by this point.

The Nuckelavee is a great example of this--it's mostly unarmored and is fairly small, yet Nora's grenades, instead of splattering it across half of Kuroyuri, burst into harmless smoke against it, despite the fact that it has freaking wooden arrows in its back.

Before that, there was the Beringel, and this issue does not get better as we go. Volume 5's trailer shorts give us Yang fighting...

(gif absolutely butchered because of Tumblr file size limitations).

...an Ursa. One of those things she literally killed casually on her first day at Beacon--which is only weeks away from this point. And damn near losing, too.

Volume 7? Please refer to that one 'Alpha' Megoliath, that requires teamwork from Penny and Ruby to kill.

Keep in mind, Penny's bigass death laser literally carved two airships in half the last time we saw her use them. And then she pulled down a third airship as it was trying to leave, with strength alone. Yet this thing is somehow able to shrug off both those methods of attack, and no one thinks of just cutting away at its unarmored legs.

Volume 8? The Cenitaur is able to beat Blake, despite the fact it's largely unarmored, can only attack from one direction, and is facing a girl with an assload of experience killing these creatures by this point.

And the less said about the Hound, the better.

The Grimm have no aura and thus have to obey normal physics and combat rules. If you want them to be sufficiently threatening, you have to give them some sort of edge in other ways. All it takes is a little imagination--and when you try, you get creatures like the Geist, which is smart enough to avoid combat until it can possess inanimate objects to make itself stronger, or the Apathy, which sap energy and willpower and have powers that make them difficult to fight.

If you're going to model new Grimm for the purpose of upping the ante, at least bother to write in some abilities that make them suitable opponents, it's not that hard.

#rwde #nitpick november #nitpick november 2022

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goodgriefwhatanerd · 8 months

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I'm thinking about being Marion's cute little human again. I'm also too tired to try being coherent so you get subjected to my vague timeline thoughts.

I'm selling my blood every so often for a bit of extra cash, so when my local pub gets a couple of regulars who drink from very distinctive wine bottles, I know that they're vampires. But they're also really chill? Okay this just isn't my business and I'm staying out of it. Unless. That bloke Marion is paying noticeably more per pint than I get paid for it. Maybe we can both benefit from removing the middle man a couple of times a month.

I go up to them trying to hide my shyness. Have a very awkward conversation with Marion about "being sympathetic to gentlemen like yourself" until I give up and stop trying to be subtle. Marion's frankly relieved I wasn't approaching them for a threeway.

After a few months of this arrangement, Marion starts asking if I can do this or that odd job for him and of course he'll pay me for my time. Possible risk of violent death, but I'd make cute vampire man happy. I agree.

After plastering several walls and weeding the garden on damp days, I see Marion without his guise. He thinks I'm mildly freaked out and trying not to show it. I let him think that because the reality of "oh gods help he's hotter as a monster" is not a better reaction.

A few months later Marion suggests I properly enter his employ. Nothing too strenuous, just setting and lighting fires in the morning, mopping the floors when they're safely out of the way, maybe help Elanore in the kitchen if she'll let you. Oh and it will be nice for young Lidriana to have someone her own age around.

Okay cool, now I live with an exhausted immortal woman, a very angry undead butcher-surgeon, a gay vampire who seems to be playing at being human, and a pretty human lass who's more unhinged and violent than any of the others. What the hell has my life become?

And I get protective. Of course I do. Which means I start fussing. Marion is the only one who puts up with me fussing at him, so before either of us knows it I'm straightening his collar, checking he's suitably attired for rain if there's a single cloud in the sky, and generally being a mother hen.

One morning a lace snaps on his corset. I go to help without thinking. And that's how I switch from odd job man to manservant.

Somewhere amongst lacing Marion's corsets, warming his "wine", commiserating with rough brain days and bad family life, and the odd bit of physical affection, it becomes clear that we're not just playing at these roles of master and servant, but also pretending that there's nothing deeper underneath.

I'm not going to say anything. But if I become more of an emotional support human than a gentleman's personal gentleman, then that's neither here not there.

Marion melts into a long, tight hug after an exhausting day in meetings and has a minor crisis. Rowan's human, he's technically his employee, and he should not have fallen in love with him. But he has. And he panics.

But Rowan's treated him better than any other man ever has. Maybe it's worth taking the plunge. But that would be Taking Advantage and he couldn't live with himself if he did that.

His confession is mostly an apology, partially reassurance that he has no intentions of doing anything, and what do you mean you want me to? Oh god, oh no.

But we're giving it a try. It's very slow and uncertain, navigating through past traumas and present dysphoria, but it's working. Even if it's a short lived thing that never goes beyond chaste kisses and sleepy cuddles, it will have been worthwhile and healing for us both.

It's not going to stay at that though. Not when Marion has taken to sharing my bed on lonely night. Not when he's stopped shying away when our kisses deepen and his jaw starts to split, revealing the inhumanity he despises and I adore.

I've got less than a century of mortal life in me, but I'll gladly spend that full measure waiting for him if needed.

#spider sweetheart #i am fucking soft for this sad man

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kseniyagreen · 3 years

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The drama Beyond Evil as a philosophical parable about human relationships.

The drama begins in the spirit of the classic detective story. A young policeman, Han Joo Won, arrives in the small provincial town of Manyang, the place where a murder took place 20 years ago and remains unsolved. Han Joo Won is talented, educated and has connections at the very top - his father is deputy chief commissioner of police. Han Joo Won is also full of enthusiasm, bordering on obsession, to solve a case that his father never solved. According to the laws of the genre, we have a limited number of suspects connected by a long history of relationships, keeping their own and other people's secrets. And the biggest secret seems to be Han Joo Won's partner, police officer Lee Dong Sik. Twenty years ago, he was arrested on suspicion of the murder of his sister, but released for lack of evidence.

The plot of Beyond Evil is well twisted, and a new intrigue is revealed behind each denouement. But at the same time, already in the first episodes, I felt that Beyond Evil could be more than just a good detective. And I was not wrong.

From the very first episodes, we plunge into the drama, like into a fabulous whirlpool. We get to know the life of a provincial town. We watch Lee Dong Sik intently, trying to figure out what is behind his extravagant behavior. Shin Ha Kyun in this role masterfully balances on the border of light and shadow, sober calculation and madness. In the meantime, we are wondering who he is - a "fallen angel" or a bright angel who fell from a height and broke his wings. We look into the faces of all the heroes, trying to determine which of them is the monster. And gradually we are imbued with the mesmerizing beauty of this world and its inhabitants.

At first, Han Joo Won was perceived as an outsider. "Young master" in an expensive suit, completely alien among the ordinary people of Manyang. And it's not just about social status. Han Joo Won chose this role for himself - an independent observer who looks from above at the ugliness of this world and does not touch the dirt. However, the further he progresses in his research, the more personal it becomes, and the mask of equanimity slips from his face. This is how a classic detective story turns into a psychological journey - to feelings and memories walled up in the basements of the soul, into a journey to someone else and to oneself. Because these two processes always go together - to find yourself, you need to see the other and be seen. Find your own reflection in the other person's eyes.

The drama Beyond Evil is a real maze of reflections. Each significant event, the history of each hero has its own reflection. Some of them are false, some of them are true, but all these fragments, put together, allow you to see the truth. There is such a method of image restoration - from several dull and even distorted reflections, you can recreate a real image. We recognize heroes by the way they are reflected in each other. And each new meeting, each new dialogue is another step towards finding a real face. This approach makes the image of each character multidimensional and deep.

The drama really captures all aspects of the relationship. Family relationships – healthy or toxic. Relations with oneself, relationships with the world, social relationships - the law and its implementation. Morality as the ability to contact. Breaking up relationships like disappearing. The attitude towards the deceased loved ones and the ways of dealing with loss, with death. Relationships are alive, supportive and healing. Relationships are codependent, burdensome and suffocating. Personality always lives in a relationship. Fencing off from the world, a person cuts off a part of himself and, ultimately, can completely die as a person. This is how a person turns into a monster.

“Everyone in the city is like one family,” says Han Joo Won of the residents of Manyang. And he is absolutely right. All heroes are connected to each other by a whole network of threads. But somewhere these are the supporting threads of life, and somewhere they are suffocating fetters. The family image is central to the drama. Everything begins with it - everything ends with it. For each of the heroes, this word means something different - a project, a burden, a duty, a dream of absolute happiness. But for everyone, it carries a lot of weight. Thus, a small town turns out to be a global metaphor for a community, a social family, in which our humanity is born, but sometimes dies. The density of connections and meanings in the drama is so great that not only each character, but the whole world of the drama is felt as something living, animated. The city of Manyang is not just a place of action, but an independent character. The whole city, as an integral living system, exists according to its own laws. The Beyond Evil story is the story of Manyang's illness and healing.

What's also great about the Beyond Evil is that there is no moralizing in it. Despite the great semantic load, the author does not reduce everything to one idea, does not teach, but shows reality in its complexity, even paradoxicality. Each character is a part of a big picture, an element of the inner life of an integral system. But also everyone is a separate unique person, with their own choice and responsibility for this choice. The story of the Beyond Evil is the story of Manyang, but it’s just as much the story of two people meeting. It is no coincidence that all the main scenes are "doubled". If you look at the titles of the episodes, you can see that the pairing is "sewn" into the very structure of the script. As if the whole story is a long dialogue between two, a series of questions and answers. Each character in the drama is interesting. Each has its own story, its own drama, its own unique personality. But the main axis of the whole story is the meeting and dialogue of the two main characters.

Lee Dong Sik and Han Joo Won, so different, but equally extraordinary, strong in spirit, but practically buried under the rubble of their own psychological trauma. Throughout the drama, they continually drift apart and collide, let go and catch each other, meeting again each time on a deeper level. They go a long way from mutual irritation, exploitation, projecting their fears and expectations onto each other, to true mutual understanding. Throughout the entire drama, the characters stare at each other - with suspicion, with rage, with interest, admiration, tenderness. But invariably - with intense attention, as if looking for something very important in each other's eyes. And in the end they find and return to each other the opportunity to be themselves - whole, feeling, alive. In my opinion, Beyond Evil, like no other drama, showed us an example of perfect human contact. At that difficultly attainable level, when you see and accept another as he is, in his true essence. The bromance of the main characters of the Beyond Evil is so beautiful that it overshadowed all the drama love lines for me. In fact, this is a "love story" - like the love of one soul for another soul. Someone sees them as a mentor and student. Someone sees them as father and son or even as a couple in love. In my opinion, we were specially shown these relations at such a level of generalization that each viewer is free to interpret them in his own way. For me, they are the embodiment of the idea of an existential meeting, beyond any categories.

The Beyond Evil is a theatrical chamber drama. But this simplicity of the means has a deep meaning. The real challenge for an artist is to show everyday reality as something magical, wonderful, and sometimes monstrous. And the Beyond Evil succeeded to create a heroic epic in the scenery of a small provincial town, where a butcher's shop, the basement of an old house or a reed field feel like a mystical place. Where dramatic battles and wonderful metamorphoses take place in the dialogues between the characters. Magic is created in the Beyond Evil, not taking away from reality, but immersing it in it. This is the fantasy world that really exists - in the space of the human psyche, in relationships between people.

This is a huge burden on the actors. They don't just need to play their characters, the actors pretty much create the world and atmosphere of the drama. And they also need to show the development and even the rebirth of their characters. Many characters in the drama wear masks. But in the end all the masks will be removed, ripped off or washed away by the rain. And under someone's mask we will find a monstrous grin, and under someone's - a beautiful face. Shin Ha Kyun and Yeo Jin Goo play characters whose faces change throughout the drama. In each new episode, they experience new trials, different emotions, but their eyes express not only situational emotions, but also profound personality changes. In some scenes, they need to act so subtly that it is like walking on a tightrope. A slightly different expression - and the impression would be wrong. But the actors are perfect in every shot.

The talent of all the participants has created an amazing artistic world. It's like the famous Doctor Who machine - more inside than outside. And you can dive into this depth over and over again, finding new nuances and meanings.

#jtbc beyond evil #beyond evil #shin ha kyun #yeo jin goo #Beyond Evil articles

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winterxjxsmine · 3 years

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This is my birthday present for @allforthestickball. I wish I was a writer so I could write you something better or I wish I could give you something you wanted but this is the only thing I can offer right now so I hope you like it, I love you, happy birthday!

Before you read this keep in mind that English isn't my native language so there are definitely mistakes in this. This is the first time I'm attempting to write Andreil and it was scary af I don't know how you all are doing it,, I really tried,,

Trigger warnings: panic attacks, mention of Nathan torturing Neil in the past

Neil always knew how to read behind Andrew's words but sometimes even he was getting a little confused. Or that one time Neil couldn't see behind Andrew’s words and let his insecurities torture him.

Today was a good day. Neil woke up beside his partner a couple of minutes before his alarm like every day. Dorm beds were very small and definitely not made for two people, but Andrew and Neil soon found out that sleep comes easier when they’re sleeping together, so it didn’t matter.

Today was a good day. “starring” Andrew had said with a hoarse voice from sleep when he woke up and saw Neil looking at him like he was the most interesting thing in the world like every day. It was a part of their routine by now.

Today was a good day. Andrew and Neil after a small make-out session when Kevin finally left them alone got up, made and ate breakfast together, and like every other day, they got ready and left for early practice with the rest of the monsters. They held hands on the way to the court ignoring Nicky's exciting glaring from the back seat, they shared more private kisses in the locker room when everyone was already in the court who made Wymack later threaten them with marathons because they were late.

Today was a good day until it wasn't. Everything in practice ran smoothly. Kevin complained the whole time about the team’s performance, Nicky about how sleepy he is and why practice is so early, Matt made jokes to make Neil laugh, everything was good. When practice was over everyone went back to the locker rooms to get changed, Neil with Kevin stayed behind to talk about game strategies as always. When Kevin headed to the locker rooms too Neil saw Andrew and Renee not far away from him so he started heading towards them.

Neil didn’t mean to eardrop at Andrew’s and Renee’s conversation but what he heard made every word die in his mouth. “if you feel this way about him maybe you should tell him, he’s your boyfriend after all.” Renee spoke carefully as always. Both friends were oblivious to Neil’s presence. Andrew gave her one of his famous death glares. What Andrew wasn’t telling him? Neil frowned but tried not to jump to conclusions. “He’s not my boyfriend,” Andrew growled almost offended at the accusation. Renee sent him a knowing look and Andrew huffed. “I’ll get bored of him eventually.” they were his next words before he threw his unfinished cigarette in the concrete.

Neil's mouth suddenly went very dry and his stomach was knotted. Andrew's last two phrases echoed in his mind again and again. "Neil hi" Renee's voice brought him back to reality. He just looked at her for a few seconds not trusting his mouth to speak right now."Is everything okay?" He thought he heard her ask when she saw his pale face and his tense figure. That seemed to catch Andrew's attention who almost immediately turned around to look at him as well. "Uh yes yes, I just- I'm just gonna take a shower." He tried to keep his face blank and without waiting any longer he awkwardly turned and disappeared from their view.

"He's not my boyfriend, he's not my boyfriend, he's not my boyfriend." Neil couldn't stop thinking of Andrew's words. They started their 'this' two years ago. They never talked about what exactly they were but Neil was certain that after all of this Andrew had stopped denying that they had something. In his conversation with Renee, he didn't say that they weren't something, he just said that..they weren't boyfriends but if they're not boyfriends then what are they? It's something that they both have to spend their time on? No, for Neil Andrew was so much more than that. He was feeling emotions he never felt before and he was pretty sure he would never feel again for anyone else. For Neil, Andrew was his whole world. He believed from Andrew's actions that he felt the same for him but Andrew denying that there isn't something between them after all this time is ridiculous.

"I'll get bored of him eventually." He hadn't listened to Andrew saying this for so long and he's not even sure why it bothered him so much. The truth is that Neil sometimes feared that he wasn't enough for Andrew. Even though the other boy had his full attention to him that didn't mean that someday Andrew wouldn't get tired and bored of Neil. Who he was anyway? A broken soul beyond fixing with scars all over his body and face. The butcher's son doppelganger. Sometimes he couldn't even look at himself in the mirror, maybe Andrew would feel the same someday.

And what was that Andrew was hiding from him? What if he wanted to tell Neil he doesn't feel the same? What if he wanted to remind him that he's just spending his time with him and nothing more? A wave of fear almost paralyzes Neil. What..what if Andrew is already bored of Neil? What if he wants to break up with him already? But no, this doesn't make sense. Andrew wouldn't act this way if he wanted to leave him. His behavior simply didn't match this theory. Neil sighs forcing himself to relax. He's just being paranoid.

Neil let his insecurities drown him a little more and if he stayed in the shower longer than he used to well nobody had to know. With automatic movements, he started dressing without even noticing Andrew's presence in the room until he spoke. "Everything okay?" He asked looking straight to Neil's blue eyes trying to find in them the right answer. Neil tried to hide a flinch and put his shirt on faster. "Yeah, everything okay." He said pressing a small smile on his lips. He wasn't exactly lying after all. Everything was fine, nothing happened he just had to forget what he heard, this conversation wasn't for his ears anyway. Andrew always had a problem with words. His words never matched his actions so this was another reason to not take it seriously. He just had to puss every feeling in the back of his mind.

"Where are the others?" Neil asked while they were walking to the car and he couldn't see the rest of Andrew's lot. "They got bored waiting for you," Andrew answered with a bored tone and disappeared inside his car. Neil took a deep breath forcing himself to relax before he followed him. They were quiet on the way back as most of the times because they were always communicating better without words so Neil found the fact that he was so bothered by words ironic when Andrew showed him every day with actions. Andrew glanced at Neil curiously many times and at some point, he let his hand hover over Neil's thigh, a silent question. Neil nodded and put his hand over Andrew's offering a small smile at him.

When they arrived at the foxhole tower Neil almost opened the door to get out but Andrew's 'yes or no' stopped him. Neil looked at him and heard himself answer yes and without even realizing it he was already leaning closer until his lips met Andrew's. Without his permission, he felt his body tense and it seemed that Andrew felt it too because he got away from Neil immediately. "Talk," Andrew growled looking at Neil with his usual blank stare. "I don't know what you mean I have nothing to say," Neil answered, crossing his arms over his chest trying to avoid eye contact. Andrew huffed before he got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. Neil sighed, again. Andrew was his usual self, everything was perfectly fine so why couldn't he just forget about it? He was getting mad at himself. "Andrew I'm just tired." Neil started following him but Andrew didn't stop until he was in the building waiting for the elevator. Neil always preferred the stairs but he didn't trust his trembling legs right now and he didn't want to leave Andrew.

The two boys entered the elevator standing as far away as they could from each other. Neil couldn't stop glaring at Andrew while they were waiting in tense silence. Suddenly the lights started to tremble, the elevator stopped and the lights went completely off. "What..what happened?" Neil murmured frozen in his place. A sudden light flooded the room and Neil soon found out that it was Andrew's phone. He watched him approach the entrance with a carefully placed blank face that betrays nothing about his feelings. "We're stuck, probably power outage," Andrew answered eventually pushing repeatedly the 'emergency’ button without success. Neil's heart began to rise in his chest but he tried to ignore it. Being trapped here makes him immediately think about some of the old darkest moments of his life. His mind traveled to times when his father locked him in his wardrobe or any other small space in the dark to punish him. This was so familiar it made his skin crawl.

Soon enough the only thing he could see and hear was his younger self crying and begging for his father to show him mercy. At some point he realized he couldn't breathe, his hands felt numb and his legs were trembling even more than before. "Andrew." He almost choked, panic clear in his voice. Andrew was beside him with a hand in his neck pushing him to sit down in a second.

“Neil” Andrew called his name with a stern voice. “Andr- Andrew I can't-” Neil sobbed grabbing Andrew’s hand with his own trying desperately to ground himself. “You’re Neil Abram Josten, striker for the Palmetto state foxes.” Andrew began to say with a steady voice. “No- no- I can’t-'' Neil was feeling nauseous and dizzy, his throat was dry and his lungs were hurting because of the multiple desperate breaths he tried to take. “Repeat after me Neil'' Andrew demanded, grabbing harder at the back of his neck. “You’re Neil Abram Josten, striker for the Palmetto state foxes, you’re safe, your parents are dead, and I’m here.” Neil started to repeat his words with a trembling voice shutting his eyes while he tried to imagine moments of his foxes, and Andrew, and his life as Neil Josten. “Breath with me” Andrew whispered, grabbing with his other hand one of Neil’s and placing it in his chest to help him match his breathing.

A couple of minutes passed and Neil was finally back to himself, his breaths were steadier and his pounding heart was calmer. None of them dared to move. “I’m a mess” Neil murmured tiredly. Why would Andrew want to be with him?. Always a problem, always a responsibility. “What’s new” Andrew moved his hand from Neil’s neck to his hair. “What happened” his piercing look dared Neil to lie. “My father used to..lock me in small places and leave me in the dark for hours.” He explained avoiding Andrew’s eyes. “I’m sorry it’s stupid” he apologized a few seconds later. “Shut up or I’ll gut you” Andrew answered, flicking him in the forehead.

“Aren’t you bored from all of this yet?” Neil asked quietly, his hesitation clearly in his voice. “Aren’t you bored of me yet?” He added before Andrew could speak. Neil was sure that Andrew would reply with a sarcastic comment or something but Andrew seemed to understand how important this conversation was. “What is this?” he asked instead, forcing Neil to make eye contact with him. “Nothing, just..I’ll understand if you’re bored with this, or me” Neil answered, making Andrew frown.

“Don’t be stupid” he growled giving him a hard stare. “There’s no ‘this’ like you always said anyway'' Neil couldn’t stop himself at this point. No one said anything as Andrew gathered his thoughts. “Where did all this come from?” he avoided to answer and Neil felt disappointment in the pit of his stomach. “Am I lying?” Neil pressed and when Andrew didn’t answer he huffed shaking his head in disbelief. Neil moved away from Andrew’s touch. “I’m not your boyfriend and you’ll get bored of me eventually.” Neil continued and saw the moment that realization hit Andrew. “You eardrop my conversation with Renee.” He stated with a blank look.

“I didn’t mean to” Neil answered quietly. “I thought you were smarter than this Neil.” Andrew sighed moving closer to him. “I just...I just thought..it doesn’t matter, you were clear to me two years ago about this.” Neil dared to look at him in the eyes and almost choked when his eyes met Andrew’s. Angry hazel eyes looking at him.

“Listen to me clearly because I’m gonna say this only once.” Neil nodded and Andrew leaned closer. “Stop making assumptions about things. Just fucking ask me. You listened to two phrases I said and you think you understood everything. There’s a ‘this’ and we’re not just boyfriends.” Andrew said, his hazel eyes burning Neil hoping that his idiot will understand the things he can’t say. Realization hit Neil and his eyes went wide. “Oh,” he said suddenly feeling very stupid. “Yeah oh.” Andrew mocked him. The thing is that Andrew Minyard never was good with words so he always used his actions to show his family that he cared. Neil has no idea why his insecurities blinded him. Andrew showed Neil every day that there was a ‘this’ with his way. He and Andrew aren’t just boyfriends. They’re so much more than that and now Neil finally gets it. “You like me,” Neil stated with a smile forming on his lips. “Idiot,” Andrew murmured. “Oh you, really, really like me.” he teased and Andrew rolled his eyes. “I’ll kill you,” he threatens with no heat behind his words.

“It’s okay because I, really, really like you too.” Neil’s smile got wider, Andrew huffed again but Neil could tell that he wasn’t so unaffected as he wanted to show. “And what's the thing you are hiding from me?” Neil asked suddenly and Andrew took his eyes away from him. “What I already told you.” He answered through his teeth and Neil couldn’t hide his smile. “Yes or no?” he asked him and after Andrew’s consent, together they leaned closer to each other and Neil let Andrew show him how much he cared about him with long heated kisses until the power came back and their foxes came looking for them.

#this is so long help #all for the game #aftg #all for the gay #neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil #nora sakavic #palmetto state foxes #the foxhole court #the kings men #the raven king #aftg headcanon

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dtrhwithalex · 3 years

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TV | Leverage (Season 1, Rewatch)

Rewatch of the first season of TNT's LEVERAGE (2008-2012), created by John Rogers and Chris Downey together with Dean Devlin and his production company Electric Entertainment.

In anticipation of the show's reboot / revival / sequel LEVERAGE: REDEMPTION coming to IMDbTV on 09 July this year, I am rewatching the original 77 episodes and writing about my favourite moments and things from each episode, season by season.

(Just a note, this first season was aired out of order, so the dates won't actually form a chronology, since I'm going with the intended order rather than the one they were aired in.)

101: THE NIGERIAN JOB

D: DEAN DEVLIN. W: JOHN ROGERS & CHRIS DOWNEY. Original Air Date: 07 December 2008.

I have lost count of how many times I have seen this episode (or any episodes of this show to be completely honest), but it holds up every single time. It is one of my favourite, if not the favourite TV pilot episode I have ever seen.

The way this pilot sets up who the main characters are and what the core of this show is, is simply perfect. The introduction of Nate at the bar being approached by Dubenich, then the intercut between him convincing Nate to do the job and the actual job happening -- just wonderful. The same goes for the individual introductions of the other players. Nate's comment about Parker ("no, but Parker is insane") which plants a thread for the rest of the show already, the flashbacks of each character to exemplify who they and what their talents are, combined with the episode then showing you those talents and what Nate can do with them -- which is, of course, his talent -- sets up this whole show so well.

So many seeds that come to fruition throughout the show are already planted right here. Nate's mentoring of Parker to become his eventual successor as Mastermind ("Haircuts, Parker, count the haircuts" -- "I would've missed that"), Eliot's role as protector, the iconic overhead shots and the gloating, the alternate revenue streams, "Hardison dies in Plan M" -- it's all already right here in this episode. A brilliant piece of writing. Hats off to Rogers and Downey, no questions asked.

Rewatching this episode made me think of what this show is about, in its essence. Yes, it is about standing up for those who can't do so themselves, taking on the bigger bad, showing how corrupt and terrible the world can be, but also how much good there is to still find in the world. But also, this show is about a lonely man being actively bullied into the family he didn't know he needed or wanted, but will eventually come to realise is the one thing, the only thing that is keeping him alive. LEVERAGE is the story of a man and his crusade to avenge the death of his child, but is is very much also the story of a man who finds a reason to keep getting up every morning in the four people who are on this crusade with him. And this pilot episode already holds the seed and the potential of all of that. And that is why this show is to this day still my favourite show of all time, because it is utterly perfect in every way.

102: THE HOMECOMING JOB

D: DEAN DEVLIN. W: JOHN ROGERS. Original Air Date: 09 December 2008.

I absolutely love how John Rogers was like okay first episode, some greedy asshole who does whatever he wants for his own gain, we'll take him down a notch. Episode two? Hmm, oh yeah, the government is completely corrupt, filled with rich greedy assholes who do whatever they want for their own gain and always get away with it. Not on my watch (I love him very much, thank you).

This episode, once again, so good. The re-introduction of every character in this new reality of Nate's crusade is just as brilliantly done as the original introduction of them all. Sophie at an audition (love the John Rogers cameo here) completely butchering it once again, Eliot beating up some thug, Parker stealing valuable art, and Hardison doing what he does best: creating a beautiful office-slash-home space for the team, putting his all into their backstories, the equipment, the behind-the-scenes workings of what they need to get the job done. My man.

The message of this particular episode is also just something I am very fond of. The rehab facility doctor's words in the beginning, and then in the end again -- "people don't just show up to help. that's not the way the world works" -- as well as Nate's ultimate answer to her, "so change the world." That right here is the message of this show. It's already right here, all up in your face, episode two.

I completely adore what this episode does for the character dynamics already. The detail Hardison puts into the other's backstories, the interactions around the conference table, Eliot sharing his knowledge, Nate explaining the money laundering scam, the whole thing about laws being in a wooden box, Sophie elaborating why she knew Congressman Jenkins was lying to her -- they don't just work together, they already start giving the others insight into their talents and their knowledge and share that. It's beautiful. I especially adore the shot of them at the end, everyone leaning against the car while watching Corporal Perry and the other veterans debating what to do with the money. They are already so comfortable and at ease with each other, leaning into each other's spaces. They're family. You can see it here already.

Absolutely fantastic episode. For a long time, whenever I thought about The Homecoming Job, I somehow associated a more negative emotion with it than with other episodes, but I don't quite know why, because this is a brilliant episode and I love watching it.

103: THE WEDDING JOB

D: JONATHAN FRAKES. W: CHRIS DOWNEY. Original Air Date: 13 January 2009.

We love Jonathan Frakes in this house and every single time his name shows up with the director tag on this show, I know that I will enjoy every last second of the episode I am about to watch. Frakes directed the hell outta this thing. The Wedding Job is an absolutely excellent episode. Dan Lauria as our main baddie Nicky Moscone is perfect casting and there are so many great comedic beats in the scenes with him and Nate. Everyone, generally, is so weirded out by Priest!Nate, but Moscone just takes the weirdness in stride. This episode holds a very special place in my heart because it contains the introduction of my favourite FBI duo -- McSweeten (McSweetheart, as we call him) and Taggert. I adore these two bumbling fools so much, and I am so glad they kept being brought back, because they are both just so lovely. McSweetheart especially is very dear to me because of the D.B. Cooper Job from the last season (where, I ask, do I start my McSweetheart for Leverage: Redemption campaign?). Overall just such an excellent episode, really. So many great moments between our main characters--Sophie and Nate and their little "relationship" problem, Hardison and Eliot talking about marriage, Parker pretending she was waiting in the screening room to have sex with Hardison, Hardison appreciating Eliot's cooking. I also absolutely adore the beginning, the four of them convincing Nate that Teresa is definitely the type of client they take on. And Nate's resigned "Yeah, okay, yeah. Let's go rob Nicky Moscone. A guy who kills people and lives in our city. Yeah, let's go do that" as if they weren't going to go above and beyond any of that in the five years they will spend together on this crusade of his. You're so precious, Nathan. Of course, the ending of this episode is beyond brilliant, and lives both in my heart and my head rent free. It is such a magnificent found family moment. Getting Teresa the restaurant back, the news footage regarding Ray's appeal, and of course, Eliot cooking for them all, and them celebrating together, all of them. It is such a beautiful moment.

104: THE SNOW JOB

D: TONY BILL. W: ALBERT KIM. Original Air Date: 27 January 2009.

I adore what the client says to Nate in the beginning of the episode: "You work hard, you play by the rules, but when you need help, you really need help? They let you hang. They let you hang and it's your kid who pays the price." This show hammers home its message so many times in such great character moments and it makes watching these brilliant people take on these greedy bastards and robbing them for all they've got that much sweeter. It is such a satisfying thing to watch. Especially because they're all so damn good at this.

This is a great episode but it is infinitely funnier if you know and speak German, because it makes the scenes between Sophie and Eliot absolutely hysterical. And the delivery of the line that Ute Ausgartner says when she discovers they replaced her with Sophie is just wrong enough to crack you up.

Again some wonderfully brilliant comedic beats -- the Frakes cameo in the hospital waiting room, Parker casually hanging off the ski lift, Hardison and Eliot arguing over who puts dye in the dead body, Eliot carrying off a pissed of Parker, and so many more.

This episode also, for the first time, really gives insight into Nate's drinking problem. We had the one moment in The Homecoming Job, but this episode starts to explore it more in depths. And something that I've always appreciated about this show is that it never glorifies the drinking, but Nate is also never vilified for it. It is a fact of Nate's life and they explore different aspects of it, and everything is done with such care (which does not surprise me one bit since this is John Rogers' show).

The ending of this episode is also, once again, so beautiful and nicely done. It is just so incredibly satisfying to watch these greedy bastards get what's coming to them, and to see the clients be compensated beyond anything they'd ask for.

105: THE MILE HIGH JOB

D: ROB MINKOFF. W: AMY BERG. Original Air Date: 20 January 2009.

Another fantastic episode (you will realise that I will say this about every single of the 77 episodes this show has)! Amy Berg wrote some excellent stuff for this show, and this episode is one of them. Always a lot of great character relationship moments, and absolutely brilliant comedic beats.

I am very fond of the fact that here, in the early days, we have the whole team present around the table during the client meeting. We see all their reactions and inputs here already, and not later when Nate or Hardison (usually) relays the information of their next job to the rest of the gang. It's a very lovely moment.

I am also very fond of the entire recon bit at the GenoGrow office. Sophie's French rave-girl act, the others having to climb stairs, Hardison's absence, the cut from Parker's bomb to the microwave at the HQ, Nate, Eliot and Parker yelling "Oh it's right behind us, it's chasing us!" and grabbing Sophie on the way out, meanwhile the security guys completely buying it. Absolutely brilliant, all the way through.

Both Hardison's adventure at GenoGrow as well as the others on the plane contain so many great comedic moments. Hardison's Spanish maintenance guy act, his interactions with both Cheryl and Steve (talking into the cupboard? His fake meeting and getting Steve to take a dive? The whole birthday thing? A+ all around. Amy Berg, everyone) and of course the reaction he has to the plane safely landing on the highway ("lord I was so scared, I wanna cry and call my momma" I love him so much, y'all). I also have big feelings about Nate's pep talk to Hardison, "you can do this, I trust you ... the only guy I can count on in a situation like this." Sir, I am experiencing an emotion alright.

The sequences on the plane are of course also absolutely fantastic. Nate and Sophie's domestic, Parker's day job and her interactions with Marissa, Eliot being a big softie who holds Marissa's hand all the way up to the in-flight bar and hugs the woman he sat down next to when they safely land (womaniser, big softie. tomayto, tomahto). Also big shoutout to the fake names Nate and Sophie have. We love our DOCTOR WHO references in this show. I love these nerds very much, thank you.

106: THE TWO HORSE JOB

D: CRAIG R. BAXLEY. W: MELISSA GLENN & JESSICA RIEDER (GRASL). Original Air Date: 16 December 2008.

This episode also holds a very special place in my heart because it contains the introduction of our dearly beloved antagonist, Mr Jim Sterling, the absolutely amazing Mark Sheppard. We love Sterling in this house, yessir (again, where do I have to address my Jim Sterling For Leverage: Redemption campaign to?). Every moment he is in is fantastic, but I especially adore the conversation he has with Nate at the race track (especially the "Nathan Ford is a common criminal" -- "Common. That's just hurtful" bit of it).

This, of course, is an episode by our wonder twins, Glenn and Rieder (now Grasl), which they ended up naming the in-universe safe company after. Always fantastic work when the two of them are involved. Some amazing character moments again here.

We get to see some of Eliot's backstory with Aimee which in turn gives us two fantastic moments with him and the women of the team. I love his interaction with Sophie at the racetrack: "I like Aimee, I do. I mean it, I like you both, Eliot. I just, I don't know what comes of chasing the past, you know." -- "Well Sophie, sweetie, I don't think you and Nate get to serve me that particular meal." Just fantastic moment between these two, who I like to call The Conference of Mom Friends whenever they are in scenes together. The other interaction is with Parker in the car: "We need you to do this. I need you to do this." I adore Eliot and Parker's relationship and this already is a very early glimpse at the dynamic they develop which will eventually lead to beautiful moments like that in the ice cave in The Long Way Down Job in season four.

I also love how it is Hardison and Parker's discussion about horses that ultimately reminds Nate of the Lost Heir con. Aldis' delivery of "Wilbur loved Mr Ed! He loved him like a second cousin twice removed" is absolutely brilliant. Unsurprisingly, however, my favourite interaction of this episode is the one Eliot has with Aimee at the end: "You're never gonna be the kind to settle down, but I'm glad you found a family." -- "Th-those guys?" Yes, Eliot, those guys. You might not know it just yet, but that is absolutely your family, and the fact that an outsider already comments on it this early is simply perfect. My deepest gratitude to you, wonder twins.

107: THE BANK SHOT JOB

D: DEAN DEVLIN. W: AMY BERG. Original Air Date: 30 December 2008.

Amy Berg on the typewriter once again (typewriter? Alex what are you talking about this was 2008...)! I really like this episode a whole lot. An excellent one for Nate/Sophie, as well as Hardison/Parker. I have a huge soft spot for my crime children pretending to be law enforcement. Any combination of them is good, but Parker and Hardison as FBI agents especially is just exquisite.

This episode is also just fantastic for illustrating some of the small town criminal activity that happens from the top down. Judge Roy's entire bit about how "these little people" will do and say whatever he tells them to do and that, because he is the law in the town, he gets to decide what is actually true and what is not. To then have Hardison fake security footage and them turning the story against Judge Roy is of course poetic justice. I adore the moment when the bank manager Frank decides that sticking with the false facts these random people have come up with is the better choice than having the judge remain in charge.

I also really love the interaction Derrick has with Sophie and then later with Parker, as well as the moment of uncertainty in-between. His "I don't know what to do with that" when Sophie tells him she's a thief is so funny and so good. The turn of "but they're criminals....then again" when he looks out of the window on the way to Parker is also just a nice moment to illustrate exactly what Parker then later says, "sometimes bad guys are the only good guys you get." Ethics and justice are such muddy concepts and especially in situations like Derrick is currently in, there is no way of knowing who is actually good, who is bad, and who is just trying their best. It is a lovely moment and once again, one of those great instances of "important message within character moment" that this show does so well.

Of course, I am also very fond of Hardison's mention of DOCTOR WHO, his "Geek power baby, stay strong" line, Eliot's fight scene with the crack dealers ("stay in the car!"), Hardison's bullshitting the demands at the bank (Hall & Oates!) and, of course, last but not least, the return of my favourite FBI fools, McSweetheart and Taggert, getting yet another win laid in their lap by the Leverage crew. This episode is filled to the brim with greatness.

108: THE MIRACLE JOB

D: ARVIN BROWN. W: CHRISTINE BOYLAN. Original Air Date: 23 December 2008.

An absolutely excellent Nate-centric episode! We finally get a bit more of a view into Nate's past, aside from the ever-present flashback to Sam's death at the hospital. I really like the relationship of Nate and Father Paul, which I think is very interesting and so well done. Through Paul we get another side of Nate, which may have stayed hidden otherwise. I am also very fond of how Maggie is introduced here. She doesn't get a voice yet, but we learn about her through Nate, Sophie and also Paul, and I quite like that. It sets up expectations for her appearance in the finale, which is really intriguing.

This episode has so many great comedic beats as well, and I barely even know where to begin. From the team's inability to deal with Sophie's acting talents (or lack thereof) to the whole "It's not Santa" gag, the amazing faces Sophie pulls when the mark tells her about Bibletopia, Hardison's "God will smite us" thing -- there is just too much good stuff in this episode.

One of my favourite interactions in this episode was on the construction site, after Grant takes what he thinks are his meds.

Sophie: What is that you just took? Grant: Xanax. For my nerves. Parker: Actually caffeine. With a dash of dextroamphetamine. Eliot: You have him speed? Hardison, shrugging: He beat up a priest!

The look Eliot gives them then with a half-shrug, an expression which cannot be described as anything but "aight, fair enough" -- just absolutely excellent.

What I also really loved about this episode, is that we get to see more of the HQ than just the conference room. We have the team meeting in Nate's office, we see Sophie picking through her mail, Hardison making space so he can build fake Saint Nick statues. Added to that, the team is setting into such a nice familiarity with each other. Eliot brings Sophie a cup of coffee to the meeting in Nate's office. The fact that they all do get mail at the office. This is their space. I love it so much.

What this episode also gives us, is a first instance of the con possibly going side-ways because of how convincing it is. I adore that their possible downfall will never be incompetence, but rather over-competence. They are so good at what they do that sometimes their talent comes to bite them in the ass. We see this again, a bit different, in The Juror #6 Job.

The ending of this episode is very dear to me. It is a very lovely moment between Nate and Paul, but also Nate and the team. It creates such a beautiful moment of intimacy between these characters, which I think is done with extreme care, and it shows. This episode also very nicely sets up a nice sort of grounded-ness for the next episode, which I think the subject matter really deserves and needs.

109: THE STORK JOB

D: MARC ROSKIN. W: ALBERT KIM. Original Air Date: 06 January 2009.

This one and the next episode are excellent Parker-centric plots and this one in particular also has some wonderful Parker/Hardison content. Nate, also, is just very good in this episode as well. Keeping the tone the last episode established especially toward the end, this episode has such a nice grounded-ness to it. Nate's first meeting with the client is so careful in a way, and we don't always see that. Generally, Nate is careful and considerate in this episode, I think. Even when Parker goes rogue, he is so good with Parker (I attribute the brashness entirely to his director role here). It meant so much that he doesn't shoot down the idea of coming back for the other orphans, he knows how important this is to Parker (and Hardison).

With this episode we learn that both Parker and Hardison have grown up in the foster system. I really adore the conversation they have at the van after they find out about the orphanage -- Hardison telling Parker about his Nana, Parker's fear that foster system will be cruel to those children, Hardison's "I like how you turned out" -- it is such a lovely and meaningful moment. This and the "we're a team" / "a little more than a team" moments are such great instances that highlight the importance of these characters and their relationships in this show. It isn't just some crime procedural where every characters is replaceable at any given moment -- this show is about people, and about these specific people.

On a lighter note, I also really adore Nate and Sophie's dynamic in this. How they coach Parker and Eliot individually but at the same time, while also arguing about Sophie conning Nate back in the day, is just brilliant. Their "delightful banter" as Hardison calls it, is so good, and I absolutely love that Nate figures out the way to con Irina is the same way he would have to con Sophie. It's just too good.

David S. Lee as Nicholas is also incredibly good, although since watching THE LIBRARIANS I always expect him to swoon over a blonde and call her Duchess any minute.

110: THE JUROR #6 JOB

D: JONATHAN FRAKES. W: REBECCA KIRSCH. Original Air Date: 10 February 2009.

The lighter of the two Parker-centric episodes, but a brilliant one nonetheless. This episode also brings us the introduction of Peggy played by the lovely Lisa Schurga. We love Peggy in this house and, once again, I ask: where do I address my Peggy For Leverage: Redemption campaign to?

This episode is great for many different reasons, one of course being that Hardison is so good at what he does, that Parker's alias has to go to jury duty. What a talent, we absolutely have no choice but to stan. I love him so much. Other fantastic things that make this episode absolutely excellent are

- Nate's "there is not some evil conspiracy lurking behind the curtain of every routine civic activity" speech which he then has to retract,

- Sophie teaching Parker about persuasion with the help of Eliot who is absolutely precious in this interaction,

- Eliot's friend Donnie, who poses as another employee from the company Sophie pretends to be from, who then turns out to be Scottish,

- Nate and Sophie sending the kids off to work at the door, with a briefcase and handshake for Hardison and a snack and high-five for Parker,

and Hardison's entire act as a lawyer. He is so good. Of course his stalling is brilliant, but the turn-around once he has to actually try and win the trial? A masterpiece. I love how he tears the doctor apart for his drunken airplane misconducts, but what takes the cake by miles is of course his closing statement. He is just, so good, and such a goodhearted, wonderful person. I love how he directly addressed Parker. Hardison is full of sunshine and I love. him. so. much.

And I would be remiss not to mention how incredibly fond I am of the rest of the team watching the feed of the jury room from the HQ with such proud looks on their faces as Parker leads the other jury members and they vote in favour of the plaintiff. This is their girl and she's done so well. What a brilliant episode. My love to Becky Kirsch, honestly.

111: THE 12-STEP JOB

D: ROD HARDY. W: AMY BERG & CHRIS DOWNEY. Original Air Date: 03 February 2009.

Another episode, another instance of me asking the question: Where do I address my Hurley for Leverage: Redemption campaign to? We love Hurley! Drew Powell is absolutely fantastic, I adore him. Also huge shoutout to Joseph LoDuca for that absolute banger of a song that plays during the intro and the credits.

This episode has some fantastic Eliot/Hardison moments that are very dear to me. The two of them looking for Hurley and fighting over Hardison's slushy spill is just lovely. The whole car bomb sequence is also just completely brilliant. It's such a step in their relationship and I love it so much. The moment of "D'you want me to kick it?" / "God, I'm gon' die" is a wonderful comedic beat in this tense situation, but it is the bit after that I really adore. Hardison figuring out how to trick the bomb and then,

Eliot: What's our margin of error here? Hardison: 'bout half a second. Eliot: Run the ba-bag of bricks by me again? Hardison: Are you ready? Eliot: No.

I am just, so fond of these two. Also the fact that Eliot's hand shakes when he reaches for the cables and waits for Hardison's signal always puts me all up in my feelings about him. I also of course adore the scene at the rehab facility with Hardison's "I'm with him. No, I am with him. See, he thinks the flirting makes me jealous, but it doesn't. But if you was like Brad Pitt or Denzel or somebody, oh girl it would be on." It love it so much.

Nate, of course, is also just great in this episode. His entire experience in rehab is another wonderful insight into his character, his issues, how he sees himself and so on. The hallucination of Sterling says so much about him. I think this also very nicely sets up how Nate behaves in the finale double episode.

I also really want to mention Parker here, because Parker in rehab is also something I am very fond of. I love the moment where she pickpockets the Koreans searching for Hurley and then so innocently comes to Nate to confess what she's done and tells him in this tiny voice "I didn't meant to, it was just instinct." I love her so much. And her, at the end of the episode, skipping along and then running toward her people, jumping on Eliot while tossing her stuff at Nate, and then going to hug Hardison, is such a lovely moment. I love how the three of them then walk toward the car arm in arm, too. I love these kids.

112: THE FIRST DAVID JOB

D: DEAN DEVLIN. W: JOHN ROGERS. Original Air Date: 17 February 2009.

First half of the first finale! I gotta say I really love the David Jobs very much. It is such a fantastic first finale. I really adore how the opening of this episode is mirrored in the opening of the second half.

Given the set-up of the previous episode, I really like how for a first time watcher, this opening sequence very much looks like Nate is completely off the rails doing his own thing getting revenge on the man who, basically, killed his son. It isn't until Blackpoole introduces Nate to 'Portia' and we see Sophie turn around that it becomes clear that we're on the con, which I think is done very nicely. Only then giving the viewer the "how we got here" part is just great.

This episode of course also brings us, finally, Maggie (yes, I'll ask again: where do I address my Maggie For Leverage: Redemption campaign to?). I absolutely love how she is introduced here as Eliot's date. I also love how absolutely terrified Eliot looks once he realises that she isn't just anyone, but Nate's ex-wife. Maggie is such an excellent character, and I adore her. I also am very appreciative that this episode holds the singular moment of jealousy Sophie has toward Maggie. After her momentary outburst as Maggie tells Nate she hasn't stopped caring about him, we never see it again. Even better, once Maggie learns about Nate's crew, Sophie and her even become friends. And it is lovely.

We also have some great Parker/Hardison moments in this episode as well. I adore Parker and her enthusiasm for their "little naked man" and Hardison being weirded out about it (and turning the little David around so Parker can change in private). I, of course, absolutely love the kiss (and Eliot's grinning question at Sophie who of the two of them Parker had kissed) and then the theft of the First David. Hardison is so in awe of Parker and it is a sight to behold.

I also quite enjoy the "downfall" in this episode. Sterling showing up (we love the bastard), the fight between Eliot and Mr Quinn, the conversation about Sophie conning them on the roof, and then of course the final confrontations on that same roof as well as the HQ. This whole thing of "and then I asked myself, what would Parker do?" / "but then I thought, what would Hardison do?" is just brilliant and lovely. It shows how far they have all come throughout this first season and how much they have learned from each other already. I am very fond of it.

I am sad about the offices being blown up, though. As much as I love both McRory's pub and Nate's apartment in Boston, as well as the Brewpub in Portland, I've always really liked the LA offices as well. It was their first home and it was lovely. I am however very happy that Old Nate made it out unscathed.

113: THE SECOND DAVID JOB

D: DEAN DEVLIN. W: JOHN ROGERS & CHRIS DOWNEY. Original Air Date: 24 February 2009.

And the last episode! As I've said above, I adore how this opening sequence mirrors that of The First David Job. Similarly, I also love how until Sophie notices Parker's laser pointer and Eliot sees Hardison, as a viewer you assume they are on the job together, which is again the reversal of the first half of the finale. Just lovely storytelling, I adore it. Speaking of mirrors, the scene in the MC Hammer mansion where Nate inconspicuously manages to get them all thinking about the con together and putting their differences aside once more, also mirrors one of my favourite scenes from the first episode of season two, where the team does the same to Nate.

This episode on the whole I also just marvellous. Eliot's awkward date with Maggie, Nate finally telling Maggie about Blackpoole's involvement (or lack thereof) in Sam's death, the team involving Maggie in the planning of the con and her, precious as she is, questioning Nate's ability to just get people to do what he wants -- it is all just so good. I love Maggie on the con, too. Sophie coaching her, how good Maggie is at it immediately. Just lovely.

Then, of course, the entirety of the con from the moment Nate shows up at the museum. Sterling hurrying all over the place trying to figure out what Nate's plan is, finding out about the mummy, the release of the gas, the evacuation, the David statue replicas, them finally getting in and finding Nate alone in the exhibit room. I adore that shot of him leaning against the display case with the two Davids still inside, only highlighted from the open hatch in the roof. It is such a beautiful shot. I really enjoy Nate and Sterling's dynamic here, too. And I am very happy that Maggie gets to punch Blackpoole just like Nate got to in the episode before. They both deserve to give this man hell.

The ending of this episode and therefore this season always has me in all of my emotions. If I didn't know there would be more after this, I would just go lie down and weep for a while after watching it. The trademark overhead walkaway shot is of course a must, but the fact that they stop, that all of them hesitate, thinking about turning around, thinking about changing their minds. And then it cuts to black, and if this had been it, we would've never known! Ah, what a show, what a first season. I am completely in love with this show, as pretty much everyone knows, but I just -- this show is so damn good. It gets me every single time. Every time.

[image taken from the electricnow website]

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years

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Prologue

to the Emperor AU that may never go anywhere because I’m notorious for starting things and never finishing them

It is often said that the time of Empress CangSe SanRen’s sovereignty had been a time of enlightenment. Rising to rule at the end of one war, and not having lived long enough to witness the beginning of the next, the peaceful lull of her reign became an ideal in the minds of many, one that far surpasses the historical reality.

No such benefit had been given to her predecessor, YanLing DaoRen, whose fifty-year bloody reign still resonates a century later. It can be safely said that most rulers prefer to die in one of two ways; on the field of battle, bloodied but unbowed, or in the comfort of their own bed, retaining some dignity in their old age. YanLing DaoRen, deep in the grip of madness, had the benefit of neither. His life had ended at the tip of a dagger wielded by his own flesh and blood, a favorite niece he had doted on until the very end. It must be acknowledged that even as suspicion consumed his whole being, as he burned his own people, beheaded his closest advisors, and burned sects entire to the ground, he never considered removing her as his heir presumptive. He would call out her name when he could longer recall his own, or recognize his own features reflected in the steel of his sword. In the end, when his mind was so far gone, that his power and fury threatened to topple the Immortal Mountain itself, it had been CangSe SanRen alone who could still approach him, without fearing for her life.

The truth of how the deed was done exists in no record, tale, or a song. At the time of the Emperor’s death, the cultivation world had been a wounded beast, uncaring of how the predator perished. They were grateful for their lives, and wanted only to lick their wounds in peace. Empress CangSe SanRen, still a child, received unconditional support from them all, one that would remain steady for years to come.

Old sects rebuilt themselves, and new sects rose from the ashes. Determined to restore the good faith of her people, the Empress allowed unlimited expansion, instituted a system of self-determination, and eliminated overbearing supervision. YanLing DaoRen, xiaoshu who had carried her on his shoulders, taught her the sword, and dried her tears, could no longer be looked upon as a model of governance. All he had constructed, regardless of its benefit, had been corrupted by his madness. One could say she had no choice, but to anchor her reign in flexibility, when his had been known by its constraints. One could say that events which followed her reign had been inevitable, because war follows peace as surely as peace follows war.

Whatever the reasons, a reign that begins with blood tends to end with blood, and hers, in the end, was no different.

The time of peace in a land so often saturated with blood is bound to give birth to romantic ideas. One such idea, to elevate the leaders of small, insignificant sects to the Empire’s council seats, had brought Wei ChangZe to the Immortal Mountain. A son of a servant, and a servant himself, he arrived at court with the YunMeng Jiang Sect, and remained there for some months as the Jiang Sect Leader’s unofficial advisor.

It is said that he fell in love at the first sight of the Empress, her beauty rendering him speechless. It is also said that he had despised her vehemently in the beginning, and believed YanLing DaoRen’s bloodline to be corrupted at the core. It is said that CangSe SanRen had fooled him at their first meeting, disguising herself as a rogue cultivator to test the Jiang Sect’s loyalty. It is said that CangSe SanRen had sent Wei ChangZe to the dungeons no less than six times in a single month, for disagreeing with her vocally, and showing no repentance.

Great many things are said of them both, most passed down from servant to servant, from one chatty mouth to another, from cultivators to traders to farmers. Had there been a written record of their romance, it would prove to be just as untrustworthy. For who can say what can be shared in a look or a fleeting touch, what emotion can rise from common ideals, what passion is hidden behind sharp words? A sword fight on a moonlit night is rarely as simple as a clash of steel, and the tumultuous relationship between the Empress and a servant, while more likely to end with a beheading, ended with a marriage instead.

Although the memory of the still recent war had softened the hearts of many, and the cultivation world had sworn to practice forbearance in many matters, it had not been as simple as one would think, to turn a servant into the Emperor Consort. A title and land had to be given, a position secured, and an approval obtained from that same council, which would have never existed but for the grace of the Empress. The matter of Wei ChangZe’s low birth became a bone of contention, one that was hotly debated for months on end, until it seemed that both the Empress and her betrothed would grow old before being allowed to marry. In the end, Jiang FengMian, whose placid nature and extensive knowledge had already placed him in the High Councilor seat, took his own servant for a sworn brother, ending the stalemate once and for all.

A marriage that had caused so much vexation and upheaval had to be a marriage of love, for what other reason would justify such a union? During the reign of CangSe SanRen, a reign determined to thrive on romantic notions, the story of the Empress and her Consort was a favorite tale in every household, told and retold for generations to come. The conviction that their love was of the purest kind did not wane as the years passed, and even their tragic deaths, one so close on the heels of the other, were seen as fated.

For how could one live in the world without the other?

The rebellion had begun in QiShan. In view of the fact that most unpleasant things, whether they be laws, customs, or cultivation techniques, historically tended to hail from QiShan, the rebellion itself was no surprise to the cultivation world. Had YanLing DaoRen lived long enough to counsel his niece on the ways of governance, had his mind been clear enough to offer advice borne of experience, perhaps such a thing could have been prevented. For all his madness and corruption, YanLing DaoRen had not ruled with coercion and tyranny because he preferred it over kindness. Instead, he had understood that unlimited expansion, self-determination, and lack of oversight may benefit the sects, but that those things which benefited the sects did not necessarily benefit the Empire.

Whether CangSe SanRen had never been given a chance to learn this lesson, or whether she had simply chosen to ignore it, this is a matter for historians to debate. The outcome, however, cannot be debated. The rebellion rose, as swiftly as an overdue storm, and a response was mounted to meet it with force. On the third day of the battle between the rebellious QiShan Wen and the QingHe Nie, an assassin long-stationed in the Immortal Mountain for exactly this purpose, killed the Empress and wounded the Emperor Consort so severely, that his death followed hers in a matter of days.

So a reign that started with blood, ended with blood, and more blood was to follow.

As any power structure built around a fragile human form is bound to do, the Empire shifted and swayed with the loss, parts of it crumbling, others emerging from the dust.

The assassin, a disgraced member of the Gusu Lan Sect, who had long ago lost the right to wear the sect colors, had nonetheless stained its white silk robes so throughly, that the mark would never truly fade. Forever tarnished by association, the Gusu Lan lost its standing in the cultivation world, its future leaders doomed to a life of shame and disrepute.

The rebellion, which was ruthlessly suppressed, had cost the Nie Sect Leader his life. Even so, it had brought honor and recognition to a Sect of humble roots, lifting the descendants of butchers to unimaginable heights. While the eldest son, Nie MingJue, shouldered the mantle of his father, the youngest son was invited to court, and made the Emperor’s companion for life.

And the YunMeng Jiang Sect, led by Wei ChangZe’s sworn brother, found themselves through a stroke of an assassin’s sword the legal guardians of an Emperor, the sworn protectors of the Heaven-ordained ruler, their power and prestige suddenly unmatched.

The Wen Sect gave up their rebellion and swore fealty. Hostages were taken, and spies planted. The cultivation world took a sigh of relief, and celebrated even as they mourned.

And what of the little Emperor?

What of the twelve-year old boy, orphaned before his time, who had always been quick to smile and quick to forgive?

That is a story that still needs to be told.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #ficlet #wwx emperor au #which is technically gonna become another arranged marriage au #sigh #hopefully one that's more funny and more bloody #anway #i'm plotting this thing #and i suddenly find myself with a little bit of nielan on my hands #because i have a single-track mind

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fantasy-so-far · 3 years

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That Fateful Day

Since leaving her homeland, Searsha Tahla had been looking for a place to belong. A physical location was not of the highest importance to her, being raised in a nomadic culture, so when she fell in with The Iron Legion, she felt like she had found her home. The commander recognized her skills and put them to use as a scout. He gave her a purpose and though she was slow to warm up to the others in the Legion, she felt like she had their respect for the work she did. Likewise, she showed respect and appreciation for their talents and skills, even if she did so at a distance.

Searsha was simply slow to trust strangers, even in a land full of them. She was not a peaceful creature. She was a savage soul and a violent heart kept caged in bone, beneath a façade of flesh. Sharp teeth and biting words remained locked behind a false smile. For Searsha to feel at ease with others, she had to see how she could contribute to and benefit from them. Practical utility and seamless cooperation were higher on the hierarchy of needs for her, so that is how she approached The Iron Legion and its members. With time, though, she found that the emotional connections came naturally. Perhaps they could have been her friends, or even her tribe.

However, the Weaver’s weird workings warped a different destiny for Searsha and her comrades.

On the “fateful day,” Searsha was positioned far ahead of the caravan with the other scouts. They were equipped with means of signaling the others if they found anything, but the day was like any other. More than once, while intoxicated, Searsha tried to convince strangers that she should have known, that she should have seen the signs of the ambush, but the reality was, there were no clear signs. Thorne and Hyena did not act strangely. They were not smug about the impending doom of the men and women under their command. They didn’t seed hints into conversations or act out of character. They woke up and acted like it was a day like any other, just like everyone else.

Searsha went high while the other two scouts went low on a choke point in the road. From the ridge, Searsha could see a pair of toddling merchants with a cart moving toward the other scouts, but they had signaled that they were aware of them. On the ridge, Searsha saw nothing but desert scrub and rocks for miles, so she also assumed it was all clear for the caravan to approach. However, just as the merchants paused to try and hawk their wares to the two below, a bit of movement caught Searsha’s attention. Two bandits erupted from a blind and got a jump on Searsha. One got a harsh hempen noose around her neck while the other disarmed her. The pair worked efficiently and bullied the auri woman to the edge of the ridge.

“Get her over,” one man snarled, “I got ‘er secured.”

With a hard shove from one bandit and a kick to the back of her knee from the other, Searsha fell over the edge and hit the end of the rope with a strangled choke.

Later, Searsha would appreciate the fact that her neck didn’t snap. The knot of the rope was just out of position to ensure a quick death for the rogue. At the time, though, Searsha felt only panic and agony as she started to suffocate, all while watching her companions get butchered below.

No one was left to warn the caravan.

She had failed her comrades.

Searsha would have died a fool --

-- but Death turned her away so that she may live with her folly.

It was dark when Searsha took a dry, desperate breath. Unbeknownst to her, hours had passed since she was declared dead by the bandits. They had dragged her up from the place where she was hanged and dropped into the blind with the corpses of the two other scouts. She wasn’t sure if she had actually died or not and remains uncertain to this day. Searsha thinks about it a lot, though. Her new relationship with Death consumes her, and the parts of her that remain were left as scraps to the carrion guilt she feels for her failure to the others. She may have clawed her way out of the mass grave, but she carries corpses and ghosts with her everywhere she goes.

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@never-trust-theliving @kuri-ahane @elissaria-ffxiv @zhel-rathan

#the graveyard company #story #first story

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silvokrent · 3 years

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RWBY Character Analysis: Pietro and Penny Polendina

Up until now I’ve been keeping quiet about my opinions on the newest volume, in no small part because my personal life has been one absurd setback after another, and I haven’t had the energy to engage in fandom meta. If you do want to know what my current opinion of RWBY is, go over to @itsclydebitches blog, search through her #rwby-recaps tag, and read every single one. At this point, her metas are basically an itemized list of all my grievances with the show. I highly recommend you check ’em out.

Or, if you don’t feel like reading several hours’ worth of recaps, then go find a sheet of paper, give yourself a papercut, and then squeeze a lemon into it. That should give you an accurate impression of my feelings.

In truth, I have a lot to say about the show, particularly how I think CRWBY has mishandled the plot, characters, tone, and intended message of their series. And while I enjoy dissecting RWBY with what amounts to mad scientist levels of glee, I think plenty of other folks have already discussed V7′s and V8′s various issues in greater depth and with far more eloquence. Any contribution I could theoretically make at this point would be somewhat redundant.

That being said, I’d like to talk about something that’s been bothering me for a while, which (to my knowledge) no one else in the fandom has brought up. (And feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.)

Today’s topic of concern is Pietro Polendina, and his relationship with Penny.

And because I’m absolutely certain this post is going to be controversial and summon anonymous armchair critics to fill my inbox with sweary claptrap, I may as well just come out and say it:

Pietro Polendina, as he’s currently portrayed in the show, is an inherently abusive parental figure.

Let me take a second to clarify that I don’t think it was RWBY’s intention to portray Pietro that way. Much like other aspects of the show, a lot of nuance is often lost when discussing the difference between intention versus implementation, or telling versus showing. It’s what happens when a writer tries to characterize a person one way, but in execution portrays them in an entirely different light. Compounding this problem is what feels like a series of rather myopic writing decisions that started as early as Volume 2, concerning Penny’s sense of agency, and how the canon would bear out the implications of an autonomous being grappling with her identity. It’s infuriating that the show has spent seven seasons staunchly refusing to ask any sort of ethical questions surrounding her existence, only to then—with minimal setup—give us Pietro’s “heartfelt” emotional breakdown when he has to choose between “saving” Penny or “sacrificing” her for the greater good.

Yeah, no thanks.

If we want to talk about why this moment read as hollow and insincere, we need to first make sure everyone’s on the same page.

Spoilers for V8.E5 - “Amity.” Let’s not waste any time.

In light of the newest episode and its—shall we say—questionable implications, I figured now was the best time to bring it up while the thoughts were still fresh in my mind. (Because nothing generates momentum quite like frothing-at-the-mouth rage.)

The first time we’re told anything about Pietro, it comes from an exchange between Penny and Ruby. From V2.E2 - “A Minor Hiccup.”

Penny: I've never been to another kingdom before. My father asked me not to venture out too far, but... You have to understand, my father loves me very much. He just worries a lot.

Ruby: Believe me, I know the feeling. But why not let us know you were okay?

Penny: I…was asked not to talk to you. Or Weiss. Or Blake. Or Yang. Anybody, really.

Ruby: Was your dad that upset?

Penny: No, it wasn’t my father.

The scene immediately diverts our attention to a public unveiling of the AK-200. A hologram of James Ironwood is presenting this newest model of Atlesian Knight to a crowd of enthusiastic spectators, along with the Atlesian Paladin, a piloted mech. During the demonstration, James informs his audience that Atlas’ military created them with the intent of removing people from the battlefield and mitigating casualties (presumably against Grimm).

Penny is quickly spotted by several soldiers, and flees. Ruby follows, and in the process the two are nearly hit by a truck. Penny’s display of strength draws a crowd and prompts her to retreat into an alley, where Ruby learns that Penny isn’t “a real girl.”

This scene continues in the next episode, “Painting the Town…”

Penny: Most girls are born, but I was made. I’m the world’s first synthetic person capable of generating an Aura. [Averts her gaze.] I’m not real…

After Ruby assures her that no, you don’t have to be organic in order to have personhood, Penny proceeds to hug her with slightly more force than necessary.

Ruby: [Muffled noise of pain.] I can see why your father would want to protect such a delicate flower!

Penny: [Releases Ruby.] Oh, he’s very sweet! My father’s the one that built me! I’m sure you would love him.

Ruby: Wow. He built you all by himself?

Penny: Well, almost! He had some help from Mr. Ironwood.

Ruby: The general? Wait, is that why those soldiers were after you?

Penny: They like to protect me, too!

Ruby: They don't think you can protect yourself?

Penny: They're not sure if I'm ready yet. One day, it will be my job to save the world, but I still have a lot left to learn. That's why my father let me come to the Vytal Festival. I want to see what it's like in the rest of the world, and test myself in the Tournament.

Their conversation is interrupted by the sound of the approaching soldiers from earlier. Despite Ruby’s protests, Penny proceeds to yeet her into the nearby dumpster, all while reassuring her that it’s to keep Ruby out of trouble, not her. When the soldiers arrive, they ask her if she’s okay, then proceed to lightly scold her for causing a scene. Penny’s told that her father “isn’t going to be happy about this,” and is then politely asked (not ordered; asked) to let them escort her back.

Let’s take a second to break down these events.

When these two episodes first aired, the wording and visuals (“No, it wasn’t my father,” followed by the cutaway to James unveiling the automatons) implied that James was the one forbidding her from interacting with other people. It’s supposed to make you think that James is being restrictive and harsh, while Pietro is meant as a foil—the sweet, but cautious father figure. But here’s the thing: both of these depictions are inaccurate, and frankly, Penny’s the one at fault here. Penny blew her cover within minutes of interacting with Ruby—a scenario that Penny was responsible for because she was sneaking off without permission. Penny is a classified, top-secret military project, as made clear by the fact that she begs Ruby to not say anything to anyone. Penny is in full acknowledgement that her existence, if made public, could cause massive issues for her (something that she’s clearly experienced before, if her line, “You’re taking this extraordinarily well,” is anything to go by).

But here’s the thing—keeping Penny on a short leash wasn’t a unilateral decision made by James. That was Pietro’s choice as well. “My father asked me not to venture out too far,” “Your father isn’t going to be happy about this”—as much as this scene is desperately trying to put the onus on James for Penny’s truant behavior, Pietro canonically shares that blame. And Penny (to some extent) is in recognition of the fact that she did something wrong.

Back in Volumes 1 – 3, before the series butchered James’ characterization, these moments were meant as pretty clever examples of foreshadowing and subverting the controlling-military-general trope. This scene is meant to illustrate that yes, Penny is craving social interaction outside of military personnel as a consequence of being hidden, but that hiding her is also a necessity. It’s a complicated situation with no easy answer, but it’s also something of a necessary evil (as Penny’s close call with the truck and her disclosing that intel to Ruby are anything to go by).

Let’s skip ahead to Volume 7, shortly after Watts tampered with the drone footage and framed her for several deaths. In V7.E7 - “Worst Case Scenario,” a newscaster informs us that people in Atlas and Mantle want Penny to be deactivated, despite James’ insistence that the footage was doctored and Penny didn’t go on a killing spree. The public’s unfavorable opinion of Penny—a sentiment that Jacques of all people embodies when he brings it up in V7.E8—reinforces V2’s assessment of why keeping her secret was necessary. Not only is her existence controversial because Aura research is still taboo, but people are afraid that a mechanical person with military-grade hardware could be hacked and weaponized against them. (Something which Volume 8 actually validates when James has Watts take control of her in the most recent episode.)

But I digress.

We’re taken to Pietro’s lab, where Penny is hooked up to some sort of recharge/docking station. Ruby, Weiss, and Maria look on in concern while the machine is uploading the visual data from her systems. There’s one part of their conversation I want to focus on in particular:

Pietro: When the general first challenged us to find the next breakthrough in defense technology, most of my colleagues pursued more obvious choices. I was one of the few who believed in looking inward for inspiration.

Ruby: You wanted a protector with a soul.

Pietro: I did. And when General Ironwood saw her, he did too. Much to my surprise, the Penny Project was chosen over all the other proposals.

Allow me to break down their conversation so we can fully appreciate what he’s actually saying.

The Penny Project was picked as the candidate for the next breakthrough in defense technology.

Pietro wanted a protector with a SOUL.

In RWBY, Aura and souls are one of the defining characteristics of personhood. Personhood is central to Penny’s identity and internal conflict (particularly when we consider that she’s based on Pinocchio). That’s why Penny accepts Ruby’s reassurances that she’s a real person. That’s why she wants to have emotional connections with others.

What makes that revelation disturbing is when you realize that Pietro knowingly created a child soldier.

Look, there’s no getting around this. Pietro fully admits that he wanted to create a person—a human being—a fucking child—as a "defense technology” to throw at the Grimm (and by extension, Salem). Everything, from the language he uses, to the mere fact that he entered Penny in the Vytal Tournament as a proving ground where she could “test [her]self,” tells us that he either didn’t consider or didn’t care about the implications behind his proposal.

When you break it all down, this is what we end up with:

“Hey, I have an idea: Why don’t we make a person, cram as many weapons as we can fit into that person, and then inform her every day for the rest of her life that she was built for the sole purpose of fighting monsters, just so we don’t have to risk the lives of others. Let’s then take away anything remotely resembling autonomy, minimize her interactions with people, and basically indoctrinate her into thinking that this is something she wants for herself. Oh, and in case she starts to raise objections, remind her that I donated part of my soul to her. If we make her feel guilty about this generous sacrifice I made so she could have the privilege of existing, she won’t question our motives. Next, let’s give her a taste of freedom by having her fight in a gladiatorial blood sport so that we can prove our child soldier is an effective killer. And then, after she’s brutally murdered on international television, we can rebuild her and assign her to protecting an entire city that’s inherently prejudiced against her, all while I brood in my lab about how sad I am.”

Holy fuck. Watts might be a morally bankrupt asshole, but at least his proposal didn’t hinge on manufacturing state-of-the-art living weapons. They should have just gone with his idea.

(Which, hilariously enough, they did. Watts is the inventor of the Paladins—Paladins which, I’ll remind you, were invented so the army could remove people from the battlefield. You know, people. Kind of like what Penny is.)

Do you see why this entire scene might have pissed me off? Even if the show didn’t intend for any of this to be the case, when you think critically about the circumstances there’s no denying the tacit implications.

To reiterate, V8.E5 is the episode where Pietro says, and I quote:

“I don’t care about the big picture! I care about my daughter! I lost you before. Are you asking me to go through that again? No. I want the chance to watch you live your life.”

Oh, yeah? And what life is that? The one where she’s supposed to kill Grimm and literally nothing else? You do realize that she died specifically because you made her for the purpose of fighting, right?

No one, literally no one, was holding a gun to Pietro’s head and telling him that he had to build a living weapon. That was his idea. He chose to do that.

Remember when Cinder said, “I don’t serve anyone! And you wouldn’t either, if you weren’t built that way.” She…basically has a point. Penny has never been given the option to explore the world in a capacity where she wasn’t charged with defending it by her father. We know she doesn’t have many friends, courtesy of Ironwood dissuading her against it in V7. But I’m left with the troubling realization that the show (and the fandom), in their crusade to vilify James, are ignoring the fact that Pietro is also complicit in this behavior by virtue of being her creator. If we condemn the man that prevents Penny from having relationships, then what will we do to the man who forced her into that existence in the first place?

Being her “father” has given him a free pass to overlook the ethics of having a child who was created with a pre-planned purpose. How the hell did the show intend for Pietro to reconcile “I want you to live your life” with “I created you so you’d spend your life defending the world”? It viscerally reminds me of the sort of narcissistic parents who have kids because they want to pass on the family name, or continue their bloodline, or have live-in caregivers when they get older, only on a larger and much more horrific scale. And that’s fucked up.

Now, I’m not saying I’m against having a conflict like this in the show. In fact, I’d love to have a character who has to grapple with her own humanity while questioning the environment she grew up in. Penny is a character who is extremely fascinating because of all the potential she represents—a young woman who through a chance encounter befriends a group of strangers, and over time, is exposed to freedoms and friendships she was previously denied. Slowly, she begins to unlearn the mindset she was indoctrinated with, and starts to petition for agency and autonomy. Pietro is forced to confront the fact that what he did was traumatic and cruel, and that his love for her doesn’t erase the harm he unintentionally subjected her to, nor does it change the fact that he knowingly burdened a person with a responsibility she never consented to. There’s a wealth of character growth and narrative payoff buried here, but like most things in RWBY, it was either underdeveloped or not thought through all the way.

The wholesome father-daughter relationship the show wants Pietro and Penny to have is fundamentally contradicted by the nature of her existence, and the fact that no one (besides the villains) calls attention to it. I’d love for them to have that sort of dynamic, but the show had to do more to earn it. Instead, it’ll forever be another item on RWBY’s ever-growing list of disappointments—

Because Pietro’s remorse is more artificial than Penny could ever hope to be.

#rwby #rwby volume 8 #rwby spoilers #rwby thought dump #my posts #i speak #rwby meta #pietro polendina #penny polendina #james ironwood #arthur watts #ruby rose #rwby worldbuilding #rwde

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gwen-tolios · 3 years

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Deeper Underground

Even before his fifteenth summer, Daniel knew he wasn't a city boy. But now, smack dab in New York City he was face-to-face with the one place he didn't want to be.

The city reeked. Homeless people, methane, trash. It also was deafening. Horns, shouting, radios.

His first night, he thought he was going to go crazy from sensory overload and the depression that followed. If he couldn't get revenge for Lacy, then he might as well try to find a coven or nest that would put him out of his mystery. His breed, they bred for life. He only had so long to live before he knew the loneliness would get to him. He had planned on assisted suicide to begin with, but had hoped to make a kill or two first.

But it was impossible to follow the scent.

Daniel didn't have anything specific to go on, the only blood in the forest had been of Lacy and the other couple they had formed a pack with, Steve and Natalie. There had been the scent of gun powder and a tang in the air that spoke of silver. But he hadn't seen the bullets. Silver was expensive; the humans had dung it out of the bodies of his family to be reused and in the process had skinned them. Daniel had returned from hunting to find the three of them with muscles showing, flies already starting to gather. Without their fur, it was only the scent of their blood that identified what body was who.

The only helpful scent had been that of oil from a car, and he traced that scent through the woods until he came to the city that never slept. It was an awful place, where the stars were barely visible and he couldn't make out the surface of the moon. He still felt the lunar pull and connection, but he missed being bathed in moonlight. The street lights were too bright to allow for that.

There was no direction for him to follow and everything was so strange. Daniel wondered around aimlessly, stumbling through alleys and tunnels and digging through the trash.

But last night...

Daniel's nose was always sharper as the full moon approached, even in human form. He had scented that oil, a large amount, and followed it. It wasn't the first time, but he followed any large saturation of it. Like last night, it usually let to an auto repair shop. But this one, this one was different. There was another scent, fainter, that came from a corner in the back where there was a table covered with parts. There was the scent of oil, and then soap, and fainter still, of blood and fur. Both of which he intimately knew.

Lacy. Steve. Natalie.

And others, the smells so faint they had blended together with age and he couldn't make out individuals. But Daniel knew his pack wasn't the first to have their wolf skins laid across this table.

Wolves were smart animals, using tactics to fight as a team and bring in a kill. But they were also wild animals, who didn't have sophisticated emotions or morals. As a result, since his fifteenth summer Daniel only felt the basics, one emotion at a time, and they were all consuming.

It wasn't the full moon, but he could still call up a partial shift.

Daniel's knees switched direction, his thighs bulking up while his calves slimmed. His hips and chest expanded, the muscles growing as coarse, copper fur sprouted over his skin. The shirt he wore was tight, itchy. It ripped with his expanding chest and he tore off the rest of it with his muzzle.

He was still humanoid, standing on two legs. His face had a wolf's snout, but his eyes and ears were more human than wolf. So he wasn't the large wolf creature that hunted in the woods, but he still had teeth and claws and lost himself to violence.

Daniel read in the paper the next morning about what he'd done. The garage was ripped apart, the family living above it killed. He noted that the article used words like 'creature' and 'monster', making statements to paw prints and claws. Everyone knew about his kind, but it was an unspoken rule to not mention them. Saying the name of any supernatural creature was supposed to bring bad luck, and death on its heels.

He expected the nests in the area, maybe some of the covens as well, had known he arrived in the city, but this public attention no doubt concerned them. It explained the silver-wearing girl under a parasol at the end of the alley. The man who had been following him since lunch who flashed a pointy smile when ever Daniel looked over his shoulder.

New York City's others lived alongside humans because of their ability to hide and keep the living arrangement they had with the city out of public awareness. Daniel had destroyed that. Now they were either going to kill him or toss him out of the city.

The full moon was coming. He would be at his strongest, as could the covens, but the nests would be weak. Even so, one werewolf couldn't stand for long.

The warning displays would be enough to send any one else off, but Daniel couldn't leave. He may not remember killing that family, but the rage over his pack's death hadn't disappeared. He hadn't killed the right people. Maybe the vampires and witches had known about the poaching, maybe not, but they certainly weren't interested in helping him.

Right now, the city was panicked. The humans knew he was in the area, and thus hyperaware. While those fanged smiles were for him, he wasn't the only one seeing them. The panic was good, he hoped it would flush out the butchers, but it wouldn't do to have this other attention on him. He needed to go to ground, some place close to the garage to watch who came and went, and come the full moon he would hunt.

Then, and only then, would he allow himself to be caught. To die.

#short story #original fiction #werewolves #paranomal #urban fantasy #gwen writes #another old one

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henryobsessed · 4 years

Text

The Widow and the Witcher Chapter Two

Summery: Julia had purchased Geralt, but will she be able to heal him?

Word count: 2800

Warning: Mention of effects of abuse

A/N Eager for Constructive criticism :)

Chapter Two

The trip home was longer than expected. Tobias after completing the sale helped to lead the men to the cart, Kias had insisted that the Witcher remain caged. "We use cow prodders to keep him in line, but if he's not in this cage then he's in the wagon cage, as he's too dangerous to be let out. I'm not sure what your mistress is going to do with him, but you'll keep in mind he was the Butcher of Blaviken." Making reference to the bloody fight that the Witcher had won against a gang of men in the streets of Blaviken. Tobias realised Kias was relieved to be done with the Witcher but also worried we would let him go. "Don't worry well not let him out of his cage, and you can get cleared of this place if that's your worry" Tobias laughed as Kias turned quickly at that statement and hurriedly started packing up his camp.

First, they stopped at the market to check on the other servants. Even though Tobias had wanted to go to Renee he knew that he would have to wait. He gave instructions on closing, and left a message for Renee to join him at the estate and re-joined the wagon. While he had been with his men, Julia had visited her husband's friends ordering more food, clothes and bedding to be delivered to the estate that afternoon. The merchants were curious about this new Julia who was exhibiting more purpose and energy than they had seen since Wilfred had died, but refrained from being nosy. They too had heard the slavers cry, and some had contemplated doing the same thing. This sort of slavery was frowned on in Wolnosci, but they all could see that this had lit a fire in their friend's beloved wife's eyes, and they hoped this would be the beginning of her healing from the loss.

Once they arrived at the estate Jolna and Petra helped take the 5 men to the bathhouse, leaving Tobias and Julia with the Witcher. Julia dismounted and went around to the back of the wagon. Tobias was hot on her heels but as she climbed in the back he waited outside knowing she needed to talk to the Witcher on her own, but he would be there if she needed him. Inside the wagon, Julia sat next to the caged man, his heavy breathing could be heard in the silence. Pulling her knees up under her chin Julia took a moment she felt a strange calm as she looked at the man in the cage. Her memories of him the tall proud Witcher who had sat at their camp filled her mind. He didn't look any older but his body spoke of the abuse he had suffered. After a moment of silence she spoke "I can't begin to understand what pain you have been through to bring you to a situation like this. But I remember a white-haired Witcher who risked his life to save my Father, and my 10yr old memory tells me that you are that same Witcher."

Julia waited, hoping that there would be some sign from the man to acknowledge that he knew she was not a threat. "I hear you" a deep raspy voice whispered into the silence. It was all Julia needed to give her the courage to continue, "I need to know what your injuries are, I don't want to move you until I know that it won't cause you more damage." Again, she waited, this time all she heard was a rumbled "mmmmm". Sitting in the stillness she had a thought of how she could assess his wounds without causing more. Getting up she said "I'll be back soon Geralt. Tobias my Loyal friend will be outside if you need something." Again, she waited not wanting to leave before he acknowledged her. Even raspier as thou it was thick with emotion, he breathed: "thank you."

Leaving the wagon, Julia spoke to Tobias "stay here and listen out for his voice. He's quiet so you will need to actively listen. I am going to go prepare the spring, I think the best way to assess his wounds will be in a weightless environment. I won't be long but if any of the men come back, see if you can work out a way to move Geralt into the healing room." At Tobias's nod, she ran to the dwelling.

As she entered the healing room Julia set about preparing the spring. Many years ago Wilfred had hired a man to help work out a way to empty the stagnant water and replenish it with the fresh waters from the spring. Moving the leavers to set in motion the refreshing of the waters she moved to get the additional minerals to add to the spring to aid in the cleansing of Geralt's wounds. After this she went to her books seeking out the one that her mother had handed her on her death bed. It was a special book describing the elixirs and potions used by Witcher. Quickly looking through the pages she found what she needed the recipes for adding healing. Grabbing the herbs she quickly made the appropriate elixir, as well as a tea to aid in a deep sleep.

A sense of calm and purpose filled Julia as she worked on her preparations, not only for Geralt but for the other men who she knew would also have ailments. As she mixed her herbs she realised this was the premonition that she had had this morning. She felt alive all her senses tingled with life, senses that had become dull and silent over the last 3 years since Wilfred had died. As she kept working the other servants were led into her rooms, along with a cart pulling Geralt and his cage. The 5 men looked clean and now dressed in clothes that would be warm, a better protection than the rags they had been in before.

Julia addressed the men, "I don't know what situation has bought you to a place of being with Kias, but I want to get to know each one of you more in the coming weeks. First, you need to know that here you will be safe. You will be fed, clothed, and given a warm bed to sleep. I am a healer, so in a moment I will be talking with you individually about how you are in your body, and if there is anything that is causing you pain. I will do my best to keep you all healthy. In return, all I expect is that you respect me and my servants, that you are honest with me about your circumstances, and when we work out what you can do best to serve this household, that you will do it to the best of your ability. If you do this, we will work well together."

As much as Julia wanted to go to Geralt, and help him right away she instead saw to each man. She assessed their health, and talked to them about where they were from, and their situation. All but one had indentured themselves to help family financial problems. The last one named Harlan had been kidnapped as he was travelling to Temeria. All agreed to stay and work for Julia. She dressed some wounds and dispensing small herbal supports for malnourishment and stomach ailments. Julia directed Petra to take them to the eating room as Nessie had prepared a small meal to help them gain their appetites back. As they left, she turned to Geralt he seemed to be asleep his eyes shut head bowed.

As she approached, he turned and looked at her, the pained look in his eyes caused Julia's heart to clench, "We are going to lower you into the Spring Geralt, but before that, we need to remove your clothing. Can you tell me how long you have been confined like this?" Tobias and Jolna waited with Julia while Geralt found his words. "I have only crawled for the last 8 months so I don't know if I can walk. I had just fought a particularly strong Bruxa and had taken a healing elixir when Kais came across me. I was not yet strong enough to fight him. They kept me in this cage during the day and in a wagon cage that I could crawl into, but it was only tall enough that I could sleep stretched out." his words were slow, measured, and Julia could tell that even this small amount of conversation was wearing him out.

Inspecting the cage Tobias found the latches and carefully removed the side. Julia trying to see the best way to remove his disheveled and dirty clothes concluded she would need to cut them off him carefully. Kneeling next to him Julia put her hand gently on his arm pulling his attention to her face, "I'm sorry I know this may be painful but just touch my arm if you need a rest or for me to stop." He nodded and closed his eyes a tenseness setting in his face as he prepared himself.

While Julia proceeded to start cutting along the seams of his shirt Tobias and Jolna disassembled the rest of the cage to allow more access to the big man. All that was left was the last piece that seemed to be holding Geralt up. As each layer of clothing was removed more and more Julia could see the scaring and abuse that Geralt had suffered, sometimes Geralt would groan loudly in pain as she had to shift a limb or mumble a curse word but he never once halted the action. It showed Julia that even in this state his will was strong, giving her hope that his spirit was not completely broken.

As the last of the layers of clothing was freed from his body, she looked up at Tobias, tears silently running down her cheeks. This was the first time treating a patient that the extent of abuse caused her grief, pulling herself together she spoke with a soft voice "Right let's get you over to the spring" his eyes opened at her words gazing at her wet cheeks, Julia stood quickly and went to get her pain relievers taking a moment to compose herself, while the two silent men pushed Geralt towards the water's edge. Julia touched Geralt on the shoulder his eyes glassy with pain met hers "I want you to drink some of this it's a pain relief and healing elixir it will help you to move and with the pain." Lifting the cup to Geralt's lips he drank slowly.

The warm water felt good on her tired body, Julia had been running on adrenalin and even now could not relax as they wheeled the cart into the water. As the water began to cover Geralt's body she heard him groan again but this was less of pain and more of relief. Once the buoyancy of the water made it possible Tobias and Jolna lifted Geralt from the cart, and floated him toward Julia. His body was in a crouched position being supported by the two assistances, she started to run her hands lightly over his skin making mental note of the old scars compared with the wounds. His body was malnourished. Julia remembering how Geralt had looked when she had seen him with her father, remembered that he had once been strong and muscular. She hoped with time he would regain those features. The trauma of the last 8 months had caused his skin to sag with loss of weight and his muscles held no strength. There were many wounds that would need cleaning and some burns that had turned into blisters along his torso.

Placing a supporting hand on his lower back she massaged along the spine feeling for any damage. Thankful that it seemed to be just stiff and not out of alignment she moved to his hips. The smallest pressure as she felt around the hips brought on a cry from Geralt, pausing she gently manipulated the joints and muscles assessing each action until she was confident that nothing was broken. Once she was sure the hips were loosened, she pushed the right hip up releasing the thigh and leg to straighten out. Seeing more scars and wounds as she straightened out the other leg Julia felt a sense of great sadness and anger. How could anyone treat someone so badly, even our animals were not treated with such cruelty.

She now had him fully stretched out, bringing a flat board and towel over she placed the towel over his pelvis to give him some privacy and floated the board under him. When she saw it took his weight without sinking, she spoke. "We are going to let you float here for a while Geralt, the water will not grow cold but Jolna will stay just in case you need anything. I'm going to get you something small to eat and then we will move you to a cot here in the room. Your wounds will need dressing, but I will do that once your dry and laying down."

Julia ran her hand over his brow which had lost some of its tension. Without opening his eyes he mumbled a thank you and fell silent. His breathing seemed to even out as she watched the silver medallion, the only thing she had not cut off his body rise and fall with each breath. Almost hypnotic in its action she stared for a moment mesmerized by the medallion. A sound from Jolna made her pulled her eyes away from the sleeping form. Taking a deep breath, she turned and moved out of the Spring. She was caught between wanting to stay by her patient and the need to gather food for herself. He stomach made a grumbling sound making the decision for her as she moved out of the room and away from the sleeping man.

Tobias made note of the hour, it was dark outside, and the house was quiet. During the evening Renee had arrived and seeing the chaos jumped into action. She helped set up the beds for the new servants, helped Nessie in the kitchen and had seen to the clean-up. Tobias was so blessed to have met this beautiful caring woman. Having no memory of his mother he had instead looked for a woman like his mistress, knowing if he found someone with a similar character that he would be blessed, and he had found her. Walking out onto the balcony Tobias watched Renee, her sandy coloured hair blowing about in the evening breeze. He walked up behind her and pulled her into his arms. "Thank you for tonight my love, your willingness to see a need, and jump straight in to help has only accentuated my love for you."

Still looking at the stars but now resting her head on his chest Renee chuckled, "Well if you had walked into a house and seen what I saw you would have done the same. Anyway, poor Nessie was beside herself. Her planned meal had jumped from 7 to 13 people in just minutes of your arrival at home. However, all I did was just take orders. She truly is a master in that kitchen." Turning around in his arms Renee looked up at Tobias. His eyes taking in her soft round face, freckled nose and sea blue eyes, which seemed to sparkle with love. His eyes shifted to her small pink lips and that was his undoing. He bent down and kissed her deeply.

Julia looked down at the sleeping form, she had spent most of the afternoon and evening dressing his wounds, applying salves on the burns, and feeding him. His amber yellow eyes had watched her silently apart from the groans of pain as she had treated him, but Julia had not felt unsafe or in danger as the slaver trader had said. Instead, she felt something different, like a cry from deep inside him that called out to her. Her only hope was that he would learn to trust her enough to talk to her. The sleeping tea she had prepared was working, his face relaxed, his breathing steady. Relaxing into the day bed she had pulled over to be closer to Geralt in case he needed her in the night. Julia fell into an uneasy asleep filled with just one picture in her mind, those piercing amber-yellow eyes.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter Three

I have tagged people who follow me and who I follow. If you want to be removed or added please let me know :)

@keanureevesisbae @darkverrmin @viking-raider @littlefreya @madbaddic7ed @the-soot-sprite @thelastsock @lovetusilver20 @crimsonrae @demivampirew @ladyreapermc @henrycavillobsessed @nitannichionne

#geralt #thewitcher

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dustedmagazine · 3 years

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IST — A More Attractive Way (Confront Recordings)

A More Attractive Way by IST

For whatever reason, we are still, and absolutely, unequipped to discuss timbre. Our homogenized Western European-based vocabulary seems relatively complete where all the rest of what we sloppily label “the musical elements” are concerned, so why the non-attention to what really differentiates one sound from another? In the most fruitful and inclusive senses, the trio IST is both precedent to and consequent of this lapse and the worlds it refuses to acknowledge. The group dances along the trajectories of timbre with the fluency of those still suffering tone tyranny, held prisoner by the note as accepted convention. From the first performances in 1996 to their last two decades later, it would be more than over general, but with a toe in truth and accuracy, to speak of distillation and concentration amidst an increase of space. These Protean characteristics are true but not the totality of what this five-disc set adds to the collaborative discography of the late bassist Simon H. Fell, cellist Mark Wastel and harpist Rhodhri Davies.

For an overview of IST’s history and importance to the overlapping scenes the trio represents, there is Michael Rosenstein’s superb article on Confront’s site:

Rosenstein’s expert ability to encapsulate historical and musical developments is as comprehensive as his descriptions are rich. Given such context, it seems prudent only to examine moments in time, and through them to come to terms with the varying approaches, densities and totalities achieved by this unique string trio that embodied “chamber music” in its most inclusive guise. It is true, as Rosenstein observes, that the pivotal first performance involved much of the back and forth associated with what might be called Euro-Free improvisation of the atomistic variety. Just as important, however, are the sonic highways and byways, the trails blazed and pastoral paths trod by these intrepid explorers. One of the most fascinating and exciting elements is the way timbre impacts the rest of what we stodgily call musical parameters. In the first of the two miniatures from that formative 1996 concert, rhythm, timbre and pitch transcend their respective narrative boundaries. Like the characters in Joyce’s Nighttown episode from Ulysses, there is a blending of structure, form and purpose that enters the realms of magic, even of phantasmagoria. Melody is inextricably linked with the rhythmic sounds of the three string instruments, but, as with the Diamond Sutra, even to speak of melody, harmony and rhythm is both true and false, tearing away at the illusions on which those binaries are constructed. Be all that as it may, nearly two and a half minutes into the same piece, there is a lengthening of sounds, a decrease in density and an increase in relative space. There’s even some exquisite executed vibrato from Wastell, a harkening back to traditions this trio usually discards. As Wastell and Fell doff their hats toward the vocabulary of the “jazz” solo, Davies joins in, bending piquant pitches in the upper register as what I have no recourse but to call the tempo picks up again. In this way, in the space of a few brief minutes, the group presents its own history in astonishing distillation, dissolving boundaries in favor of new ones soon to be subjected to a similar fate.

At another extreme resides an extension of those flowing seed-moments of near-stasis in the trio’s powerful 1998 rendering of Intensitat, one of Stockhausen’s late 1960s text pieces. Obviously, via the rigors of recording, rehearsal and performance over the intervening two years, interaction is at an even higher level. It can happen in a moment, that communication that fosters elevation, and it’s palpable, as it is in this concert of compositions. Listen at 1:23 of the Stockhausen as Wastell microtonally alters his pitch, a shade separating tyranny from freedom. Similarly, at 2:46, Davies simply cuts off the ratcheting rhythms that had been bolstering the interaction, leaving a glorious bed of sustain and overtone in shifting dynamic planes. Here again and at other strategic points, vibrato is used but to an entirely different end. Is the trio employing it as a rhythmic device? Is Fell responsible for the emergent microtones at 2:22, whose gradual tempo increase eventually births the layering mini-cascades of vibrations in fluctuation we myopically call vibrato? The gorgeous miniature is rife with internal rhythms, imbuing the entire frequency spectrum with warmth, luminosity and, above all, a raw power, a vision of arising and somehow fastidious unity very rare in any chamber music. It is one of the most extraordinary occurrences in a set full of them, showing a group in the flux of development portended by that first concert and realized over the succeeding years. Yet, nothing anticipates, or can follow, the vast architectural drones, the huge swells as primal as ocean waves and as crystalline as spring water. The group’s atoms are elongated, saturated with the energy and life-blood only a shared performance experience affords. Again, pitch is only a consequence stemming from the timbres in vibration and mutation filling and elasticizing each moment. The applause is well deserved.

Rereading the above affirms that it cannot constitute anything close to a comprehensive review. For one thing, so many of this compendium’s wonderful performances are simply neglected. There is the occasion, the only one, of Simon Fell and violinist Phil Durrant performing together in a small group, caught in the Red Rose in February 1998. That beloved venue had a wonderful acoustic, especially evident on the two IST pieces opening the fourth disc. The initially sparse concluding track offers a precis of just how well the improvisers’ aesthetics meshed, matched only by John Butcher’s contributions to another Red Rose performance several months earlier. How one trills multiphonics in microtone I’ll never know, yet another nod to timbral intrigue, but you can hear Butcher doing just that as the combined portion of the concert begins, the trio supporting and leading in turn.

Ultimately, when confronting music plumbing such sonic depths, nothing can replace first-hand observation. How, after all, does one review the musical equivalent of a thunderstorm, a birth, something as nebulous and inconclusive as a conclusion, especially when the language to discuss it has yet to be invented? It is the substance of those unfolding events as much as their attendant statistics that generate the power and lead toward reflection, and this box rewards that sort of listening. More than that, it pays tribute to a time of exploration, of interactive moments caught in the simple but precious and fleeting acts of presaging others, however distant, and to the environments bearing witness as sound travels between mind, heart and body. Beyond even these relationships, the set honors Fell. Only weeks before his death, a 25th anniversary IST concert was being planned. The box is dedicated to Fell, and his mentorship helped Wastell and Davies to enter the musical scene the trio would go a long way toward defining. The music here somewhat mitigates the harsh reality that they will not perform again, as do the accompanying booklet’s reminiscences, from those involved in the music and from those observing. Insightful, touching and sometimes humorous, they mirror the music’s multifaceted approach in a way many such endeavors fail to do. With mixed emotions channeled through a quiet but definite comprehension of the extraordinary nature of what transpired and is documented, the various accounts celebrate the music and the musicians responsible for it. No more can be asked than that we do the same.

Marc Medwin

#IST #a more attractive way #confront recordings #marc medwin #albumreview #dusted magazine #box set #simon fell #rhodhri davies #mark wastel #timbre #free jazz #improvisation #modern composition #london

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infinite-xerath · 3 years

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Xerath Interactions For Every Champ

I’ve done this before, but since we have some new characters and reworks, I figure I’d go and give this another shot.

Aatrox: “Just like the empire you served, Aatrox, you are now but a shadow of greatness.”

Ahri: “The temptations of flesh do not sway me, fox.”

Akali: “Flee into your smoke, girl; it will not hide you from me!”

Alistar: “You are not yet free of your chains, minotaur; join me, and reap your revenge!”

Amumu: “Friends will inevitably betray you, child...”

Anivia: “I needed only one rebirth to achieve greatness!”

Annie: “You hold great potential, child...”

Aphelios: “You conjure weapons from another realm? Show me more.”

Ashe: “You would unite your homeland, but I shall unite the world!”

Aurelion Sol: “I acknowledge your strength, star dragon, but I am power incarnate!”

Azir: “Cling to your precious Sun, Azir; I have no more need of it!”

Bard: “You may witness my triumph, storyteller, but do not interfere!”

Blitzcrank: “Such a crude golem...”

Brand: “A power rivaling even my own... I think I shall take it!”

Braum: “Cower behind your shield; it makes no difference!”

Caitlyn: “Mine is the only law that matters!”

Camille: “I will tear that gem from your chest, machine...”

Cassiopeia: “You sought power in the tomb, serpent, and you found me.”

Cho’Gath: “You think to devour me, beast? I welcome you to try!”

Corki: “I shall blast that infernal machine from the sky!”

Darius: “You are the mightiest warrior of Noxus? How underwhelming.”

Diana: “I tore the Sun from the sky. Shall I treat the moon in-kind?”

Dr. Mundo: “Abomination! You dare to approach me?”

Draven: “Look upon me, mortal, and witness TRUE greatness.”

Ekko: “The power to control time, in the hands of a mere child!? I shall rectify this at once.”

Elise: “You think yourself immortal? Allow me to enlighten you.”

Evelynn: “I will teach you TRUE agony, demon.”

Ezreal: “Surrender that gauntlet, boy, or I will claim it from your ashes.”

Fiddlesticks: “Fear? I have cast such emotions aside.”

Fiora: “Nobility means nothing to a god.”

Fizz: “Your childish antics end here, creature!”

Galio: “You consume magic, but even a titan has limits!”

Gangplank: “Yet another dethroned king, grasping for his lost throne...”

Garen: “Crushing Demacia will be child’s play compared to Shurima.”

Gnar: “A primal rage stirs in this whelp... Interesting...”

Gragas: “Such simpletons are beneath my notice.”

Graves: “Another mercenary? Let us put your skills to the test...”

Hecarim: “A horse without its reigns? I shall soon correct that...”

Heimerdinger: “A dull mind with delusions of brilliance.”

Illaoi: “I claimed what was mine. Now, the world will move as I will it!”

Irelia: “Entertain me, dancer. That is your purpose, is it not?”

Ivern: “Your influence in the desert is lacking, ‘green father.’”

Janna: “A guardian that relies on the strength of others is meaningless...”

Jarvan IV: “What is a king to a god, Demacian? Just a man with fleeting authority.”

Jax: “Join me, Icathian, and I will see the Void itself burned!”

Jayce: “You will not be the first hero I crush, nor the last...”

Jhin: “Mad though you may be, I could offer you a greater stage...”

Jinx: “You think you know chaos, girl? Your rampage is but child’s play.”

Kai’Sa: “If a mere mortal can survive the Void, then destroying it will be easier than I imagined...”

Kalista: “Azir made an oath he could never keep; HE is the betrayer!”

Karma: “They say your wisdom is unrivaled, yet you are still foolish enough to stand against me?”

Karthus: “You mistake eternal damnation for eternal greatness, lich.”

Kassadin: “You fight a battle you cannot win; surrender your relics, and I will finish it in your stead.”

Katarina: “Your sister proved most useful, assassin...”

Kayle: “I answer to no judgement but my own!”

Kayn: “You struggle endlessly for control of one-another; I shall put you both out of your misery!”

Kennen: “You are swift as lightning, yordle, but my fury is the storm!”

Kha’Zix: “I stand at the apex of life; you can never hope to reach my level!”

Kindred: “When next I strike down Azir, ensure he does not return!”

Kled: “A mad yordle on a frightful drakalops? Is this meant to be a threat?”

Kog’Maw: “I shall end your hunger... Along with your existence!”

LeBlanc: “Your petty tricks cannot deceive me, witch!”

Lee Sin: “A pity you cannot see the error in opposing me...”

Leona: “No matter how many avatars of the sun stand against me, I shall strike them all down!”

Lillia: “Dreams are but fleeting fantasies; I have no need of them.”

Lissandra: “You think a prison of ice can hold me? You are sorely mistaken.”

Lucian: “Your weapons may banish the dead, but to me, they are little more than toys!”

Lulu: “I sense the most primal of magics within you, yordle. Where did you obtain it?”

Lux: “Your light is but a spark next to me, girl!”

Malphite: “What sort of imbecile gives life to a mountain?”

Malzahar: “You are no prophet, Malzahar; you are merely a puppet!”

Maokai: “You seek to liberate your home from the dead? That can be arranged...”

Master Yi: “A master of the blade is no match for a master of the arcane!”

Miss Fortune: “Your city requires order, and I alone can restore it.”

Mordekaiser: “You may rule the realm of the dead, but Runeterra is MINE!”

Morgana: “If you would embrace chains, then perhaps you may have mine.”

Nami: “A civilization beneath the sea? Interesting...”

Nasus: “Come to face me again, Nasus? It will end no differently than your prior attempts!”

Nautilus: “I do not pay tribute to false gods!”

Neeko: “My essence is too great for you to handle, trickster.”

Nidalee: “Human, beast, it matters not; you will bow all-the-same!”

Nocturne: “My nightmares ended long ago, demon. Now, yours begin!”

Nunu and Willump: “Naive child. You are merely a pawn, just as I was once...”

Olaf: “No death will immortalize your name, fool; I alone am eternal!”

Orianna: “To preserve your life, you became a mere husk... I almost pity you, machine.”

Ornn: “Forge for me a weapon to shatter these chains, mountain god!”

Pantheon: “You will fall before me, Targonian, just as Asose did...”

Poppy: “The world I create shall have no need of heroes.”

Pyke: “Your mind is already shattered. Now, I shall break the rest of you!”

Qiyana: “Power? Authority? Let me teach you what those words truly mean, child!”

Quinn: “Tell Demacia what you have found, scout. Whatever defenses they prepare, I WILL break!”

Rakan: “Human, vastaya, it matters not; I shall reign over both!”

Rammus: “The beast of legend... Come, let us see if your stories hold true!”

Rek’Sai: “When I am rid of you, the Great Sai will be mine!”

Rell: “Pledge your power to me, child, and let us dismantle Noxus together...”

Renekton: “Do you still recall who imprisoned us, Renekton? Do not forget the root of your hatred...”

Rengar: “I can offer you elusive prey, hunter; her name is Sivir...”

Riven: “You would challenge me with a broken blade? Are all Noxians so foolish?”

Rumble: “Yordles are said to be honored creatures. Looking upon you, I fail to see why.”

Ryze: “The World Runes must be kept from mortal hands... That is why I shall harness their power!”

Samira: “You say I destroyed your home? You will have to be more specific...”

Sejuani: “You survived the harshness of your homeland, just as I survived mine...”

Senna: “Darkness, light, it matters not; no power can rival my own!”

Seraphine: “You seek to unite your home? I will unite the WORLD, child.”

Sett: “You fight for entertainment? Very well... Entertain me.”

Shaco: “I will not indulge your twisted games, jester. Perish!”

Shen: “I alone can bring stability to this world.”

Shyvana: “Such power... Why do you waste it in service to imbeciles?”

Singed: “You are little more than a walking corpse; I will return you to the grave!”

Sion: “You think you know rage? The Butcher shall enlighten you...”

Sivir: “The kin of Azir, wielding the Chalicar... You cannot be allowed to live!”

Skarner: “So the Brackern are more than a fable... But only just.”

Sona: “A fine instrument... Go on then. Play for your emperor.”

Soraka: “You bound yourself to flesh and blood, but I have surpassed it!”

Swain: “Vision, might, guile... I am the embodiment of your ideals, general.”

Sylas: “You and I are much alike... Stand with me, and Demacia WILL fall.”

Syndra: “Your magic is potent, Syndra, but your mind is dull and clouded!”

Tahm Kench: “You have nothing to offer me, demon. Begone from my sight!”

Taliyah: “You will tell me where she went, child, or I will pry it from your dying breaths!”

Talon: “You are not the first assassin I have faced...”

Taric: “My radiance far surpasses any gem, Targonian.”

Teemo: “Your tricks cannot hide you forever, yordle...”

Thresh: “No prison can hold me, least of all your frail lantern.”

Tristana: “You wish to become a soldier? That can be arranged...”

Trundle: “You think yourself clever, troll? That you would provoke me says otherwise.”

Tryndamere: “Mightier warriors have failed to best me. You shall fare no better.”

Twisted Fate: “You confuse petty tricks for magic, gambler. That was your greatest and final mistake!”

Twitch: “It seems the Voidborn are not the only vermin I must exterminate...”

Udyr: “Do you truly control the spirits within, or do they control you?”

Urgot: “I am the ONLY one with the might to stand above all others.”

Varus: “A mighty Sunborn, reduced to a squabbling trio of corpses...”

Vayne: “YOU are Demacia’s protector from darkness? This will be easier than I had imagined...”

Veigar: “You think yourself evil incarnate? How amusing...”

Vel’Koz: “Not even YOUR twisted mind could fathom the secrets I possess.”

Vi: “To think a city that prides itself on brilliance would birth a brute such as you...”

Viego: “You are but the shadow of a man clinging to petty emotions; you are CERTAINLY no king.”

Viktor: “I alone have achieved perfection, and perfection cannot be copied.”

Vladimir: “I congratulate you on your mastery of the most primitive spellcraft known to man.”

Volibear: “Even the storm bends to my will!”

Warwick: “Another dog to hound me? I shall return you to your leash!”

Wukong: “No level of skill may rival pure power, ape!”

Xayah: “Human, vastaya, it matters not; I shall reign over both!”

Xin Zhao: “They say your will is unbreakable... I beg to differ.”

Yasuo: “What do you know of the girl called Taliyah?”

Yone: “You come to me seeking answer? Prove you are worthy of them!”

Yorick: “You would fight the undead... By raising the undead? Imbecile.”

Yuumi: “The book shall be mine, cat!”

ZAC: “What manner of twisted sorcery gave rise to an abomination such as this?”

Zed: “I will burn away your shadows and armor, and expose you for the weakling you are!”

Ziggs: “I may have use for weapons such as yours...”

Zilean: “You saved your people from the Void, only to imprison them beyond time? Icathia truly was a land of fools...”

Zoe: “Celestial magic is not a plaything, girl!”

Zyra: “The desert is no place you. Return to the jungle, or be pruned.”

#Taunts #Xerath taunts #Yup I did another one #Every single Champ #Hoo boy

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whitewolfandthefox · 4 years

Text

The Black Blade

Anonymous: omg pls pretty pls for me write scenario 10 w/ geralt x reader!!

Prompt: After stalking their prey and tracking their movements for so long, assassin CHARACTER has begun to fall in love with them.

*check out my new series inspired by this fic! The Black Blade Masterlist

Words: 5.5 wow this one got away from me

Warnings: mentions of poison, blood, gore, killing, fluff, tiny bit of angst

Masterlist

Add yourself to my taglist

Summary: Y/N is an assassin known as the Black Blade. She has taken to a contract to kill Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf. She spends months tracking him, learning his habits and patterns in order to complete her contract, and falls for him over that time.

The Black Blade

It had been months of tracking, months of hiding, slowly learning his habits. You had never met him, but you knew him intimately. You knew that he talked to his horse when he was lonely, that he had given her the awful name of Roach. You knew that he travelled alone, and preferred this. You knew that he was an awesome warrior, and that he would be a challenge to apprehend. You knew he slept lightly, or not at all, having learned this particular fact when you made your first attempt.

He had woken before you had even made it into his camp, coming to his feet with his sword drawn, golden eyes piercing the darkness as you dropped to the forest floor, staying as still as you possibly could to avoid detection.

You had spent months following the Witcher known as the White Wolf. Normally, you wouldn’t spend this long on a contract, but the coin had been too good to turn down. You hadn’t met your employer, working through mediaries who had given you a handsome fee when you had agreed to take the job, promising even more when you delivered on their request.

They wanted you to kill Geralt of Rivia.

You were a renowned assassin, the name Black Blade known through the underworld. You had gained that name through your signature black daggers, made out of a dark metal so as not to reflect any light when you hunted in the shadows. You were a shadow, in and out without leaving a trace, and the colour of your blades reflected this. The whispers that accompanied your name were full of fear, speaking of the ruthlessness with which you dispatched your victims.

You had just completed a difficult contract when you were approached with this offer. Kill the Butcher of Blaviken. We will see that you can retire and live handsomely should you be successful.

A Witcher was a daunting task, they were known for their enhanced senses and their fighting abilities. You were good, but you didn’t know that you were that good. The reward was too enticing though, after a short day of deliberation, you reached out to your contact and told them you would do it.

Shortly, you were provided with funds enough to buy new equipment, a new horse, hunting clothes, and supplies enough for a long hunt. You were delighted to find that you had enough coin to custom order a long, black sword. Your favoured weapons were your daggers and garrote, but a sword was better in a fight, and was better against monsters. Although they were not your primary work, you occasionally made a stop to dispatch a particularly bothersome one, though always for a price. You had had such a sword before, but had lost it when a job had gone sideways. You completed the contract but lost your weapon, so you were delighted to find you could now have a new one made. That alone made this job worth the effort.

You had made several attempts on Geralt’s life so far, but none had been successful so far. The first attempt, you had misjudged the Witcher. You had only been following him for a couple of weeks and had decided the best time to make your move was at night. He travelled alone and slept alone, you figured it would be an easy in and out, slit his throat in the night. You still hadn’t figured out what gave you away, the man had shot up as soon as you had gotten within fifteen feet of his camp, sword in hand. You had spent the next several hours motionless, your hood up to cover your face as the Witcher sat next to his fire, gazing into the darkness.

You had learned your lesson after that. You hadn’t realized that Witchers’ senses were so enhanced. Even when you were riding far back, the man would occasionally stop, suddenly turning to look behind him. You would dive for the treeline at these points, and after Geralt had performed this maneuver several times, you took to riding close to the trees.

When in town, you would try to approach him unnoticed, possibly slip a knife between his ribs, prick him with your poisons, slip a potion into his drink. No matter what you did, you were unable to get close to him. He was always alone, no one would approach him, making it difficult for you to do so. Even when was in a crowd, he always seemed to know you were there, and you were reluctant to tip your hand.

The most recent attempt was somewhat closer, taking place in an inn. You had dressed in a tight red dress, the fabric hugging your curves. The dress flowed off of your shoulders, highlighting your collar bones and pale skin. Long sleeves adorned your arms, ending in silver wire bracelets that could quickly be turned into a garrote. The skirt was long, a slit running up the side to just below your hip, hiding the dagger strapped to your thigh. The back of the dress was laced tightly, allowing various small knives and other weapons to be tucked into the fabric. You had lined your eyes with kohl and painted your lips, highlighting your sharp features.

You had spent the night fending off the advances of other men, waiting for your target to let his guard down. He had stayed at his table, eating and drinking all night. He didn’t even glance at the other working girls in the tavern, much less you. Though you tried, you couldn’t get close to him all night without seeming suspicious. Every other girl ignored him after the first was blatantly ignored. You could feel him looking at you occasionally, but not with any interest, just a professional courtesy to see who else was in the room with him.

Frustrated, you went to the bar in search of a mug of ale. The next time a man sidled up to you, complimenting you on your beauty, you smiled and fluttered your eyelashes at him, allowing him to escort you out of the inn.

Once outside, you were quick to snatch one of your daggers, striking him in the temple and slowly lowering him to lean against one of the buildings, retrieving your belongings from your room and slipping off into the night.

***~*~*~*~***

Before you could make your next attempt, a problem made itself apparent. Namely, in the shape of a lively bard. Although you were an assassin, you still had morals. Unlike the mercenaries who would kill anyone and anything, you chose your victims carefully. Only those who were truly deserving of death’s embrace received the kiss of your blade. Jaskier, as you discovered he was called, was guilty of nothing except an overindulgence in fine wine and fine woman. Nothing that you would determine to be a crime worthy of your touch.

The bard travelled with Geralt for the next few weeks, their paths seemingly going in the same direction. While you were frustrated at this interruption, it gave you a chance to learn more about Geralt’s mannerisms and habits.

You learned that he hated showing feelings, but had certain tells. His lips would turn up just the slightest at the corners when he was amused or happy. For the most part his face was still, but you had been trained to read people. The slight wrinkling of his eyes, the tip of his head, this man was very emotive. Even his single word responses told much, depending on the inflection, he could communicate interest, happiness, displeasure.

His body language was very expressive as well. He would remain alert, but you could see the exact moment when he turned to alarm. When he was frustrated or sad, his posture would tense. This would happen often when he was thrown out of a town just for being a Witcher. You sympathized with him, when the people would discover who you were and what you did, you were often leaving a few hours later with your tail between your legs.

Just like you, he never unpacked his bags, even when the two would camp or stay at an inn for longer than a day. You always had to be ready to leave, to be prepared for the worst. Often, Geralt would leave beige Jaskier, waiting in the woods for him when the villagers started to get twitchy.

You learned that he cared more than he wanted to. Just the fact that he would wait for Jaskier was a sign of this. He would put up with the bard’s singing for hours on end, even when you were starting to question your decision not to harm him, Geralt would only grunt in response to Jaskier’s endless questions, would never lose patience at the incessant chatter.

Your view of the Witcher changed drastically after he fought and killed a Selkiemore, putting himself into danger to save a town and then refusing the coin offered to him. You could see how thin the children were, how worn the villagers’ clothes were. You felt guilty there, dressed in your good hunting leathers. You left several gold coins in that town before you left.

You could hear Jaskier berating Geralt for not taking the coin as they travelled down the road. Geralt just grunted in reply, trying to dismiss the conversation. Jaskier wasn’t leaving it though, continuing to pester the Witcher before he spun in his saddle to pin the bard with a piercing glare.

“Did you not see the state that those people were in? They could barely afford to feed their children, much less pay me. I will not take coin from those who need it.”

The bard was shocked into silence, though only for a moment until he burst into song once more. You could hardly hear Jaskier’s singing as your thoughts whirled around your head. Everything you had been taught about Witcher’s was slowly being dismantled the longer you followed this man. They were said to have no feelings, yet Geralt was more expressive than any other man you knew, in his own way. He cared more than the lords in charge of the land, did more for the people than anyone else did. He frequently put himself in danger when no one else would, taking the most dangerous jobs and occasionally refusing payment when he didn’t think the people could afford it.

He was the complete opposite of you.

You thought you only killed those who deserved it, imagined yourself a saviour to their victims, an avenging angel. You realized you were what the people thought Witchers were, killing only for coin, killing to survive.

Killing because they enjoyed it.

You didn’t realize you had stopped moving until Jaskier’s voice had faded to almost nothing. Shaking yourself to rid you of the thoughts gathered in your head, you hurried to catch up to the pair, making sure to stay out of sight.

That moment changed you, and you found yourself wondering at how much truth you had been given when your contract outlined why exactly they wanted Geralt dead.

***~*~*~*~***

In the next town, Jaskier and Geralt parted ways. You should have felt happy that the bard was finally gone, that you had a free shot at the Witcher, but you found yourself hesitating to strike. The morals that had formed your shield had suddenly been shattered, leaving you reeling and unsure of what you were killing for. The one was seen as unfeeling and cold cared more about the people he saved, regardless of what they had done or might do. You chose your victims based on a set of rules you had decided on. What made you better than him? What gave you the right to choose who lives and who dies?

You spent your nights guarding the man, patrolling the forest to keep the beasts who would venture near away. The men who came together to throw Geralt out of town were quickly disbanded. A few threats and a showing of your daggers were all that was needed, it rarely took force to make them leave. When it did, you left them unconscious, dispatching them quickly and neatly, not even unsheathing your blades.

It has now been almost 6 months since you had taken the contract and you needed to finish it soon. Your employers are starting to get impatient, a mediary meeting you at an inn where Geralt had stopped on a job.

“It seems that your abilities were grossly overestimated when you were recommended to us. My employer didn’t think it would take this long for you to complete the kill.” The man kept his hood up at the table where the two of you sat, tucked away into a corner.

“I ran into some complications. A bard was travelling with him, and you know my terms. No collateral damage, I kill only those who I have selected.” Your stony face hid your raging emotions. The last few weeks had seen you reluctant to go through with your kill, wondering at the truth of the accusations leveled at Geralt. Everyone had heard of the butcher at Blaviken, but you had come to the realization that there might be more to that story. It had been blown so out of proportion over the years that it was more of a folk tale than a true retelling of the event.

“We know your terms, that you think that just because you kill criminals you are not one yourself. Finish the job, before we put a contract out for the both of you.”

With that, your contact stood, dropping a small bag onto the table with a clink. “For your troubles, and a reminder of what waits for you at the completion of your task.” He turned and walked away as you stared at the bag, conflicting emotions raging within you.

You were startled out of your revery as the man in question came down the stairs, a burst of chatter before a moment of silence following him in. As you watched him, you saw Geralt’s face tighten at the silence. You felt a sharp pain in your chest, recognizing the distrust the people had for him, the feeling of rejection and hatred. It was the same they had for you.

Stop it, you chided yourself, get this job over and you will be paid enough you won’t have to worry about it anymore. You can choose your jobs, take the ones where they won’t drive you out, where they will thank you for ridding them of one more problem.

But do I really care so little that I would kill the man who was saving others?

As you came to your decision, the door to the inn flew open and a woman staggered in, sobbing. Being the one closest to her, you grabbed her as she stumbled, depositing her into the chair you had just vacated.

“My baby,” she wailed, “my baby! She’s been taken by a monster!”

“What monster.” You started at the rough voice that came from over your shoulder. Turning your head, you were met with golden eyes. You quickly focused back on the woman, ignoring the feeling in your chest that accompanied the eye contact with the Witcher.

“There, there is a monster, it’s- it’s covered in scales, it’s huge! It took my little girl, Witcher, it flew away with her, you must help me!” The woman gripped your arms as you supported her.

“A description, woman, I need a description! Did it have wings, claws, teeth? Where was it? How big was it? I need to know what I am facing if I am to get your daughter back.”

You shot Geralt a glare, taking the woman into your arms, gently shushing her as you stroked her hair. “How big was it? Let’s start with that.”

You could feel the Witcher’s glare burning a hole in the back of your head. Ignoring him, you coaxed more information out of the hysterical mother. It was a hunched black creature that had flown down and grabbed the child out of her mother’s arm. Covered in scales and feathers, the thing had two hind legs and massive wings, standing taller than the average man.

Having passed the exhausted woman over to the matronly innkeeper, you stood and pivoted to look at Geralt. “It sounds like a Shrieker. You will need help.”

He scoffed, “Not from you. I will be fine.”

Surprised at the abrupt rejection, you shook your head and stepped back, silently gesturing at the door. You didn’t look at him as he studied you closely before turning and heading into the night. As the door shut behind him you turned on your heel, racing for the stairs that led to your room. Once there, you donned your armour and buckled your sword to your waist, a combination of ungalvanized steel and silver, made to fight monsters but to still have your signature black colour. You also grabbed your bow, slinging it and your quiver across your back. Once outfitted, you descended the stairs and headed for the stables to retrieve your horse, not allowing yourself to think of what you were heading to do, whether you were going to help or to hinder. You passed the weeping mother on your way, sparing her a glance before you were out the door, mounting your horse and following the Witcher’s path.

***~*~*~*~***

The battle had started by the time you arrived, you could hear the shrieks from the creature as well as the screams of the child. You ignored the sounds of battle, instead following the sound of the child, deciding that that was the safest thing to concern yourself with at the moment. You were conflicted, unsure what you would do when faced with the Witcher.

The Shrieker had landed in a large clearing below a cliff, sheer stone walls on one side and trees on the other. You could see various shelves on the wall, covered in small bones, blood dried from where it had run down. The dirt was churned up with claw marks from the comings and goings of the creature. The Witcher was currently engaged with the Shrieker, ducking under its wings when it slashed, attempting to make his way to its undefended back, not quite able to duck away long enough to do so.

You quickly found the little girl, cowering against the stone face. She was unharmed but for long scratches on her arms. There were small blood trails running from some of them, but no fresh blood was weeping from the wounds. You gently lifted her into your arms, intending to make your way back to your horse and to leave Geralt with the creature when you sensed a presence at your back.

Without thinking, you tucked the girl against your chest and dove to the side, tucking your body around the child’s to protect her, rolling on your shoulder before coming back up to your feet, the girl still in your arms. You dodged again, avoiding a swipe of the creature’s wing in your direction, moving as quickly as you could to where Geralt was getting back to his feet. A quick glance showed a slice to his armour, the gap weeping blood. You were unable to see the wound, but based on the amount of blood he was losing, you didn’t think it was too deep.

“I told you not to come,” he growled out, glancing at you with black eyes. You started slightly, before remembering what you had learned about Witchers in your training. You guessed he had taken an elixir to help in the fight, which had turned his eyes black.

“You didn’t seem to be doing very well by yourself, so I stepped in. You should know from your craft that the most effective attack method against Shriekers involves two people,” you shot back, stepping slightly behind the man as he swung his sword to catch the next swipe of a wing. He grunted, glancing back at you.

“Get the girl out of here, she’s in danger the longer she’s in the clearing.” He continued blocking attacks, not moving much in any direction. He released a shout as a wing clipped him, causing a trickle of blood to run down the side of his face. Realizing he was giving you a chance to get away from the creature, you gripped the girl tighter as she cowered into your shoulder, running to where you had left your horse. You quickly hoisted her into the saddle and handed her the reins. “You can ride, yes?”

At her nod, you turned the horse in the direction of home and safety, jabbing him in the side to force him into a gallop as the little girl clung to the pommel, crouched low over the horse’s neck as it ran. You cinched the bracer on your left arm tighter before reaching behind you to retrieve your bow. You ran back towards the battle, retrieving an arrow and notching it to the string as you went. As you came back to the clearing, you set your feet, aiming for the creature’s eyes. As it turned towards you, you shouted “Down!”

Geralt dropped to his stomach and rolled out of the way of a claw as you released your arrow, allowing it to fly and pierce one of the Shrieker’s eyes. It released a scream, flapping its wings as it reared back on its legs, swinging its head to focus on you. You darted away as it lunged, the spike on its head just missing your ribs. You ran to the side, again sighting and releasing, missing the creature as it turned to go after Geralt who had just struck at its exposed back.

It screeched and staggered in pain, away from Geralt and towards you. As it turned, it slashed at you with a wing, causing you to leap forward, rolling under its wing, forcing you to drop your bow as you went. Coming to your feet, you backed up until you were side by side with Geralt. You unsheathed your sword, ignoring the widening of his eyes as he saw the distinctive colour of the blade.

“You go left, I’ll go right and make noise, try to get it to focus my way. Geralt grunted his assent, readjusting his grip on his sword.

“Now!” you shouted, leaping to right as you continued to yell and move in sharp, jerky motions, trying to draw attention. You kept one eye on Geralt as he moved to the back of the creature and one eye on the Shrieker itself, bobbing and weaving under the spike and wings as it lunged at you.

You hissed as you felt a wing slice through the leather on your back, hot blood beginning to run down the skin. You hadn’t moved quite fast enough. You swung at the offending wing, catching it and leaving a deep gash in the skin. It roared and swung its head at you, catching you in the chest and throwing you against the stone cliff.

You hit hard, sliding down to sit dazed at the base of the wall, watching as Geralt shouted and leapt, landing on the creature’s back before slashing down its spine. It screamed, thrashing and throwing Geralt off, turning and leaping at him before he could get out of the way. You screamed as it claws opened deep lacerations across the Witcher’s chest, dropping him to the ground as if he was a doll whose strings had been cut.

The world crystallized around you as you forced yourself to your feet, your sword gripped tightly in your hand. Sensing the new threat, the Shrieker ignored the injured Witcher at its feet and spun to face you as you ran towards it, ducking under its blow, rolling and coming up at its back. You thrust your sword forwards, aiming for the slash Geralt had made earlier. Your blade struck home and you pulled down, further injuring the creature as you severed the muscles to its wing.

It pulled away, attempting to crawl to the edge of the clearing, its wings flapping in vain. You followed it, dodging the claws and ignoring the burning line down your back as you chopped at it, finally ending the fight when you struck home and twisted, severing the Shrieker’s spinal cord.

It hadn’t even collapsed before you had dropped your sword, turning and racing back towards the crumpled man, turning him over onto his back to find a paler than normal complexion and closed eyes. Using one of your daggers, you cut away his armour to get to the wound below.

You thanked whatever gods were out there for Geralt’s Witcher constitution. The bleeding had already started to slow. You exhaled sharply at the sight of the mangled flesh, ripping a piece of his ruined shirt off to press against the wound with one hand as you released your harness with your other, searching for the catch that would reveal the fake bottom in your quiver.

You quickly reached for the items kept there, thread, a needle, and a healing potion. Pulling the cork out of the vial with your teeth, you poured half of it in Geralt’s mouth, massaging his throat to ensure he swallowed before dumping the other half over the wound. You ignored the low moan that came from the man at your actions, taking the needle and thread and stitching the wound closed.

That finished, you left him lying on the ground and went in search of his horse. You had run yours off with the little girl, but you were sure that Roach would be around here somewhere. Finding her, you led her back to the clearing, soothing her when she balked at the stench of the Shrieker.

Taking the bags off her side, you returned to the Witcher to find slitted golden eyes, the black having faded away while he was injured. Relief coursed through you at the sight of him conscious. He watched you with suspicion as you rifled through his bags as you searched, finding what you were looking for. You turned back to him and held up a roll of bandages before gesturing at him, sliding a hand behind his back as he struggled to sit up. Without speaking, you wound the bandages around his torso. You refused to meet his gaze, feeling his eyes on you the entire time you worked.

You stood, turning on your heel and starting towards the edge of the clearing, trusting that the man would be able to get himself back to the town.

“Wait.” A raspy voice came from behind you, freezing you in your tracks. “I know who you are, Black Blade.”

You looked down at the ground before slowly turning to face him. He was sitting on his own now, staring at you with an expressionless face.

“I know you were hired to kill me.”

Refusing to meet his eyes, you shook your head, releasing a sigh. “Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you? You had the chance.” He sounded confused, as if he had expected to have died at your hand.

Looking to the side, you debated your answer. Geralt waited patiently, still staring at you with those golden eyes you had come to favour. “I don’t know. It felt wrong.” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, surprised when you saw him lift and drop one shoulder before wincing.

“Thank you.” Startled, you turned to look at him fully.

He must have recognized the shocked look on your face as he chuckled, slowly shifting as he struggled to get to his feet. You didn’t move as he approached you, invading your personal space. You tilted your head back slightly so that you could meet his gaze.

“For helping me. You trusted me enough to guard your back, even though you had no idea what I would do. I knew who you were, I could have taken the opportunity to kill you just as much as you could have as well.”

You shook your head at this, denying that he would have harmed you. “I knew you wouldn’t, you look out for people, you don’t hurt them.”

He caught you with his gaze, “And how do you know that?”

You hesitated, debating how much to tell him. “I have seen you forgo payment in poorer towns, you will often spend more money on items than you really need to so that you can help those who need it. You are a good man, Geralt, better than I am. I am as bad as the monsters that you hunt.”

“You say you are a monster, yet you didn’t harm Jaskier while he was travelling with me. In fact, you stopped attempting to harm me at all. I have heard stories of you, Black Blade, and you don’t hurt those who don’t deserve it.”

Shocked, you stared at him. “You knew I was making attempts?”

He nodded, “I also knew that after the first one or two they stopped being real attempts. You left signs, they stopped surprising me after the initial attempts. I must have changed your opinion of me. You have a good soul, you won’t hurt those unless they hurt others. I am glad that your opinion of me changed.”

You looked away, thinking of the day when you saw him stop and buy a meat cake only to give it to a child who had been staring at the cart hungrily. At that moment, you realized that you wouldn’t be able to kill him.

You didn’t realize tears had started to run down your face until Geralt took a step towards you, bringing a hand to your face to wipe them away. He gently placed two fingers under your chin, turning your head to look at him, his golden eyes soft and open.

“We have met before, you and I, though I don’t think you realized it at the time. It was many years ago, you saved my life. I had been imprisoned by a king for being unable to free his daughter from a curse. He had gone mad, ravaging the country and killing his people for no reason. I was the next one to be hung when you intervened. You made a public display of him, a message to those that would hurt others that the Black Blade is always watching and is ready to step in. I never forgot that to this day.” He smiled softly. “You saved my life, and you have spared it again.”

You attempted a watery smile, before the expression dropped from your face. Your heart sunk as you remembered the threat. You would never again be free, you would always be looking over your shoulder, waiting for someone to come out of the woods after you. Your name and reputation wouldn’t protect you for long. They also wouldn’t protect Geralt, you realized. As long as you had been hunting him no one else would, for fear of your retribution. Now that there would be contracts out on each of you, you would never be safe. You realized you wanted him to be safe.

“I haven’t saved it, I have condemned it. Now that I have failed to kill you, my employer will come after us both.”

Geralt chuckled, “I would like to see them take down the two of us.”

Hope flared in your chest. “The two of us?” you questioned.

He gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course, mouse. Just as you have been watching me these past months, I have also known you were there. Not all the time, no, you are very good at your job, but I would see you occasionally in town. I always wanted to get close to you, but I was worried I would spook you.”

Your heart fluttered at his words as you reached up to gently grasp the wrist of the hand that now cupped your face. You smiled gently up at him, “Then together, we can keep each other safe.”

His breath ghosted over your lips as Geralt slowly leaned down, “Always.” His lips captured yours as his arms came around you, pulling you into his chest. You were careful to avoid his wounds, placing your hands on his waist as you melted into his embrace, savouring the feeling of physical affection, something you rarely received.

Panting, you separated, leaning your forehead against his. “Together then.”

“Together,” Geralt agreed, before leaning down to capture your lips once more.

**~*~*~*~**

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harveywritings92 · 4 years

Text

How you met: Shay x Death Doula! Reader

Info on the reader's profession: A Death Doula is a person who assists in the dying process, unlike a regular doula who offer assistance for women in labor, Death Doula's deal with well... death! But they don't deal exclusively with just children, they were like an early version of grief counselors mixed with hospice nurse and funeral director all rolled into one package, their service list would include: Giving emotional,social and Psychological support, creating death plans, helping with funeral and memorial planning, and guiding mourners to their rights and responsibilities.

===================================

Shay was assigned by Haytham to investigate the rumor that a previous dead member was apparently alive and well. They were dismissed as just so... until, Thomas Hickey appeared before the grand master claiming to have seen the man, a one Robert Bancroft a former banker and tradesman wandering the New York market district, now that wouldn't be strange except Robert had dead for three months now! And what's more, apparently the late Mr. Bancroft has also gone on to calling himself Philip McCray not much info on that name though.

Haytham sent Shay to figure out this mystery, To start him off the grand master directed the former assassin to the home of an Undertaker: Father's name [l/n] seems there been a disturbance at his place of business that might just give them a lead to this mystery.

Shay was wary at approaching the large manor-like funeral home he heard whispers and accusations of the undertaker being a demon butcher who cut up bodies and ate their livers, others that he'd chop the limbs off and sew them to other bodies and used dark arts on them. Though Mr. Franklin who was an old friend of Mr. L/n assured Shay that those rumors were hogwash; what the experiments undertaker does with the deceased was simply a misunderstood science that will one day change the way everyone looks at life and death.

That didn't do much to calm the Irishman's nerves as the smell of Incense invaded his nose the closer he got closer the the mortuary, Shy paused for a moment to admire the birdcage shaped censers hanging by the door he thought them they were lanterns, but duty calls Shay walked inside where smell of lavender potpourri lingered in the air and the sound of arguing invaded his ears Shay followed where the voices were coming from and found himself in a large sitting room, where a y/ht y/hc woman in a black and purple dress around his age was arguing with older man.

"Well someone has to do something about this, The man's wife thinks we're hiding him!"

"I said no! No interrogations, no investigations, no bloody mystery solving! This will blow over soon."

"Yes and meantime Mr.Cray's wife is telling everyone under the sun, about how I'm some husband stealing harlot, While at the same time some ne'er-do-well going around pretending to the man!"

"The woman is grieving Y/n, you've been trained to recognize such delusions, she saw him die, their friend saw him die and...and..."

The man's voice trailed off finally noticing Shay watching them, he straightened himself up and cleared his throat, while the woman whip her head around to see what got his attention."Oh, a customer, Y/n go make some tea for... um" The Templar held his hand out. "Shay Cormac, and that won't be necessary... I'm here regarding a break-in three months ago?" the undertaker looked uncomfortable as he look at Y/n who this knowing smirk on her face.

“Yes we.. Well my daughter's office was broken into..." He led Shay to back of the manor to Y/n's office now that the Irishman could get a good look at her noting some resemblance between her and the undertaker they both had the same eye/hair color, they got to the office as Y/n spoke up as the assassin hunter looked around.

Soon Mr. L/n left and Y/n took over "Thieves weren't after any trinkets or valuables." She directed him to a large row of cabinets with a broken locks, "they were only after papers & records of the recently deceased, and was very careful at who he was selecting." She showed him an old file with details of that person's life. {Identification papers, birthplace place and cause of death etc.] and sketches of the deceased persons face she explained they used them for an "in case" scenario of multiple funerals in one day and if the families have the same or similar sounding names.

"Here's the man whose papers were stolen" she said handing the Templar the sketch he took out a small painting of Bancroft and compared the two "This is very well done." Shay commented taking in the sketch's detail right down to the scars and birthmarks. "Uh, thank you?" Y/n said incredulously not used to hearing her work be complimented especially from a man, Shay wasn't joking when he said it was good this McCray could be Bancroft's twin, Except...

Shay checked the death record McCray had black hair, Bancroft was blond, his first thought was a wig but the way Hickey had described the bloke his hair looked too natural to be a wig, nor did it look like soot and grease as Lee had suggested, was he using ink? his dark eyes glance over at a Y/n looking out the window shaking her head at something.

"Is there way darken one's hair color, without wigs or ink?" the assassin hunter asked not being familiar with cosmetics, Y/n cocked a brow as she thought. "Yes through henna and katam." Shay gave her a confused look Y/n sighed and took off her gloves and pulled up her sleeve to reveal a very impressive tattoo on her hand.

Shay took her hand her to get a better look, if it wasn't fading he'd almost mistaken another glove, the lotus design was delicate the way the ink ringed around her fingers like lace was almost fairy-like. "This is mehndi art made with henna it's a type of dye made from tree dyes from India, it can also be used to change hair color...if mix with the right components." She explained the as the Irish man flipped her hand over to stare at the moon design on her wrist.

"How long does this usually last for?" He asked giving her hand back. "Well depending on type and quality three weeks? applying oils is a good way to extend it." Y/n stated as she put her gloves back on. *who'd thought that wedding tribute for my friend in India would come in handy?* She thought not noticing Shay's attention suddenly shifted to the window, in a split second the large man suddenly yanked Y/n towards him using his body to shield her from her window exploding; glass shards flew everywhere as rocks were thrown through the window!

Followed by a woman screaming "PHILIP KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!?" then there was some struggling Shay pulled away from Y/n the two went the window to see what happened, the Irishman kept her behind him just in case. as they watched a hysterical woman throwing rocks at the funeral home, as a man and two women and adolescent boy struggled to control her.

"PHILIP COME OUT!" The man finally got a hold of her. "Stop this right now Sarah, Philip is dead!" the Sarah shook her head not believing him as the women pleaded with her to listen to her brother, she gasped seeing Y/n and Shay watching her "GIVE HIM BACK YOU WHORE!?!?" Sarah screeched ready to throw a another rock as her brother dragged her away.

the boy walked over over to the shattered window. "I...I'm sorry for my mother Miss Y/n, My aunt says they'll pay for the window..." The y/hc woman the boy off. "Don't worry about it I know it's not your mother's fault." She assured as they watched his aunts and uncle load his mother into a carriage. the boy then looked around making sure his mother couldn't hear.

"Is it true?"

"Absolutely not, I'm not hiding your father..."

"No, not that I know fathers gone, I meant...I heard things about you being able to speak to the dead, solving murders?"

"I don't speak to dead, I speak for the dead and I swear on your father's resting soul, I will find out whose behind this and bring peace to your mother."

The boy thanked her and went to join his family, Y/n winced hears Mrs. McCray scream at the top of her lungs "I WON'T LET YOU HAVE MY BOY!?" before being restrained by her sisters-in law as her brother shook his head clearly at loss and tired of his sister fits, as they rode away...

"Speak for the dead, eh?" Shay queried sounding amused and intrigued as Y/n averted her eyes embarrassed /face red from embarrassment as she thought he'd gone to find her father once Mrs. McCray was whisked away, "Well being a death doula, that is what I do in a way..." they were suddenly interrupted by her father entering the study, wooden planks under one arm hammer and nails in the other "Except most death doulas don't go on path of Derring-do just because they think someones a killer." Y/n looked offended at her father's words.

"Well I wasn't wrong before!" she huffed agitating her father more. "Stay out of it." he warned boarding her window up, he then turned to their visitor. "And you've got your evidence Cormac, Now I suggest you take you leave." Shay bid the last name's farewell, but before he reached the door he was stopped by Y/n grabbing his arm "Mr. Cormac, when you find this man." She made her father wasn't listening; he'd blow a gasket if he found out she was meddling.

"If possible I would like you to return him here," Shay's brows furrowed at this request, "Here, why?" he asked confused over why she would want the thief whose caused her so much disarray in her house. "I think it might help if Mrs. McCray saw "Philip" for herself." Irishman nodded seemly understanding what the y/nat woman was planning. "I'll see if can keep him in one piece." He noted Y/n hadn't let go of his arm. "Is there something else you wanted" The y/ht woman fidgeted for a moment.

"Erm...Yes, if it doesn't trouble you, perhaps I could help you again?" Shay blinked wondering if he heard right? meanwhile Y/n inner thoughts were going haywire. "You idiot, why would you ask him? no man wants the creepy undertaker’s daughter especially someone as handsome as-" Shay's broke through her pity party. "That wouldn't trouble me at all." Y/n up at Shay who looked equally startled by his words.

Cue an awkward starring contest before Y/n realized she was still holding his arm, letting him go the y/hc shyly averted her eyes to the floor/cheeks went pink, Shay was thankful for that she couldn't see the tips of his ears were red, he calmed himself before walking out of the funeral home. "I'll see you again." he promised before heading back to Haytham with his findings.

#assassin's creed rogue #Shay Cormac x Reader #assassin's creed imagine #assassin's creed scenario #assassin's creed fanfiction #templar order #haytham kenway #thomas hickey

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