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house-of-kells · 5 years

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A place where I am not myself.

Syntheticspacemagic | Fluff | Ikora x Shiro-4 | SFW

Ikora had always liked being alone with her thoughts. Alone on mercury when the guardian went in after Osiris and Sagira, alone when she stormed her way through the crucible, and alone when it was just her and her ghost wandering the jungles of what had once been known as Africa, when she was still a fresh guardian.

But this time was different, staring out at the traveler as it pulled itself back together, Ikora felt, for once, uncomfortable with being alone with her thoughts. she rubbed her palms over the smooth wood beneath her hands as she leaned out over the railing not unlike she had seen Zavala do so many times. the dramatic irony was not lost on her. It had been only 2 weeks since the guardian had returned from the tangled shore, informing the two remaining vanguard of Prince Uldren’s death.

Despite having been the one to send the guardian on that journey, Ikora felt no sense of relief, no satisfaction, only what she could describe as disappointment. disappointment not in the guardian, but in herself, she had gone behind Zavala’s back to OK a mission that had in the grand scheme of things, accomplished nothing. the two vanguard leaders still had not spoken.

“Ikora.” a synthesized voice behind her spoke, low and solemn. Ikora turned her head slightly, just enough to see the speaker from her peripheral vision. Shiro-4, one of Cayde’s closest friends, leaned against the wall fifteen feet from where she stood, hands folded over his chest, regarding her with his robotic eyes, and for once Ikora wished that Exos’ could display just a little more emotion. “Shiro, what are you doing here.” she responded in the same solemn tone, ordinarily she’d be more cordial, shaking his hand, all business, but today she just couldn’t muster the effort.

Shiro sported a new cloak sown from black cloth, instead of the yellow cloth he had worn originally, the cloak sported a long red stripe down its left half, as though mirroring the cloak Cayde had once worn. as he shifted his weight, Ikora caught a glint of silver at his hip, a small unassuming sidearm was strapped there.

“I came to check in, got a message from Cayde saying he had died, and left some things for me.” he shifted uncomfortably. “whole place isn’t what I expected to come back to honestly.” Ikora turned back to stare up at the traveler again. “and what were you expecting Shiro?” Shiro stood up to his full height, no longer leaning against the wall, and approached. “wasn’t expecting Cayde dead and you and Zavala giving each other the cold shoulder, that’s for sure.” he gestured to the railing next to her. “May I?” Ikora waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, and he mimicked her position, hands placed on the railing, only his eyes weren’t on the traveler.

Ikora held the silence for a few long moments, cherishing it, before snapping it in her hands. “I never intended it to be like this.” she said, lowering her eyes to the city. “I’m assuming you mean the guardian skipping off to the shore to do the deed.” Shiro quipped. Ikora nodded in confirmation, honestly Shiro would have made a fine hidden had he been a warlock, his skills of perception almost beyond reason. “I thought it would bring...” Ikora paused searching for a phrase to convey what she felt, in truth she had no idea what she had ‘thought it would bring’.

Once again Shiro came to her rescue. “you thought it would help things make sense, like how it used to be. you thought it would drive Zavala onto your path. you thought it would bring resolution to Cayde’s death.” again he had hit the nail on the head, but Ikora made no move to confirm his guess. “I feel as though your words are wasted on me Shiro, why are you here exactly?” the exo shifted a bit, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. “ah, well, you see...” he shrugged. “when Andal died, there was this restaurant I brought Cayde to, down in the city, it was sort of a place away from places, if you get what I mean.” she didn’t. “No I don’t I’m afraid.” Shiro sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “Cayde eventually ended up calling it ‘the place where I can be not myself’, its sort of a place where you don’t have to be a guardian for a while. you’re a guardian, but not there. you’re a soldier, but not there. you’re a civilian, a titan, a warlock, a hunter. but not there.”

Ikora finally looked over to the hunter, the barest hint of a smile gracing her face, the thought of a place where she could think things over not as the vanguard, not as a guardian, not as a scholar, but as herself, as Ikora, seemed oddly cathartic.

“you know Shiro, I think I would like that.” she said, keeping her eyes on the traveler. the hunter nodded. “I’ll get it set up, and ping you the coordinates tonight, wear something nice.” he looked down at her robes. “and uh, not that sort of nice, like, normal nice.” Ikora didn’t understand but nodded along anyway. “Great.” Shiro said, rising up again to his full height “just look, not you.” he said, striding away. Ikora shook her head, wondering how in the world she could not look like herself.

it had taken a few hours for Shiro to send her the coordinates as well as a time, and a few hours more for her to put together a suitable disguise, but Ikora had managed to dig the robes she had worn as a young guardian out of her closet, and reattach the shoulder sling to her old shotgun, Invective. the robes were simple, maroon in color, with black leather serving to fill in the gaps, and a handy hood to pull over her head. across her arm, Ikora had placed one of her old wearable colliders’, and had departed the tower in secret, placing an old teal helm over her head, and pulling up the hood about her neck.

saying the restaurant was hard to find was the understatement of a lifetime, even with her ghost, Hugin, supplying active coordinates, it had taken them nearly two hours to find it, and the result both was and wasn’t what Ikora had been expecting. put together from what seemed to be random bits of metal and wood, the ‘restaurant’ was nothing more than a large shack with a corrugated steel panel as a roof, hanging from the roof, just above the doorway, was a fizzled out neon sign suspended by wires threaded through what looked suspiciously like bullet holes; the sign read “the Middle of Nowhere”. Ikora looked around, there was no sign of Shiro yet, and this didn’t feel like the sort of place to be alone in, and she began to have second thoughts. letting out a small hum, Ikora leaned toward Hugin and said “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea...” just as she began to turn to leave, a familiar voice called out to her.

“Ikora.” Shiro called from across the small grassy yard outside of the shack. jogging across, he stopped a few feet in front of her. “I’m so glad you were able to make it.” Ikora nodded cautiously. “Shiro when you said a place...” she paused, uncertain. “I wasn’t expecting this.” Shiro nodded, easily reading what she implied. “yeah I know, but give it a shot, and if you don’t like it, we don’t come back. Deal?” Ikora felt a bit shocked by how forward he was being, she had never taken a chance to talk to Shiro without being in a vanguard meeting, and now that she was alone with him, his calm reassurance was... nice. “Alright.” she managed to say. “I can give it a try.”

“Fantastic.” Shiro replied, moving towards the shack, Ikora in tow. before the pair arrived at the door, Shiro laid his arm across her shoulders; when she moved to step away, he tightened his grip. “okay Ikora, trust me on this, you’re gonna want me around here, at least until folks warm up to you, so just follow my lead.” Ikora sighed slightly and nodded, Shiro nodded in return, before pushing open the door to the restaurant, while saying. “welcome to the Middle of Nowhere.”

Despite its outward appearance, the inside of the shack was well lit, with round tables, their finish almost completely peeled off, and old rustic chairs, which probably never had any finish applied in the first place, light bulbs hung from cords stretching upwards to the ceiling; off to the left on the far side of the single room was a bar, in similar condition to the tables and chairs. as the pair entered, figures seated alone or in groups at the tables turned their eyes on Ikora and Shiro. Ikora felt Shiro shift his hand down from her shoulder to around her waist, while he simultaneously raised his other hand into the air slightly and lowered his head in what Ikora could only describe as a half nod. the patrons, most of them hunters by Ikora’s wager, repeated the gesture, lowering their heads and raising their hands, before returning to their drinks or other activities.

pulling her over to an empty table with two chairs, Shiro took his hand from Ikora’s waist and kicked one of the chairs out from the table a ways, before taking the other chair and sitting down. Ikora took the chair shiro had moved, presumably for her in the weird way hunters did things, and sat, pulling herself up to the table. after a moment a young woman came by and dropped two old menu’s onto the table between them. “Anything for drinks?” she asked, pulling out a notepad, her tone somewhat apathetic. “Two glasses of water, and something for a departed friend if you get my meaning.” Shiro chimed in. the woman nodded, not looking up from the notepad. “Sure thing Shiro.” she turned on her heel and wove her way through the tables back to the bar. Ikora stared after her for a few seconds before pulling one of the menu’s across the table and beginning to unfold it, turning her gaze back to Shiro. “they know you?” Shiro nodded. “yeah, and before you ask, they don’t care that we’re guardians, place operates on a ‘don’t ask don’t tell policy’” Shiro reached out and placed his hand on top of Ikora’s menu, obscuring her vision of the orders. “and don’t, order anything here.” Ikora would have asked why but decided against it, Shiro was clearly in his element here, and it felt best to just follow his lead.

The woman returned with the glasses and a dark bottle of cheap wine, which Shiro took and thanked her, tipping her a few pieces of glimmer before turning his attention back to Ikora. “So Ikora.” he began, and Ikora braced herself. “I heard what happened, and I’m not talking about Cayde, I’m talking about you and Zavala.” there it was, the question she had hoped not to hear. “Listen Shiro, I appreciate this, but I don’t think” she was cut off by Shiro leaning forward, onto the table. “I know you don’t think this is a good Idea Ikora, but I want to hear your side of things, every guardian I’ve talked to knows Zavala’s side, but I want to hear yours.”

Ikora took a moment to compose herself, sifting through her memories, trying to find a place to start; after she had compiled what she felt was a proper explanation, she cast her eyes downward to her hands. “I didn’t understand.” she finally said, watching Shiro sit back, listening. “with Cayde dead, I didn’t understand why Zavala didn’t want to go after Uldren Sov, at first I thought him a coward, too afraid of his own light’s frailty to trust anyone else to do a good job, it felt as though he thought if he couldn’t do something, no one could.” Shiro nodded. “But that wasn’t the case.” he prompted, and Ikora shook her head. “No it wasn’t, after the guardian returned, and I felt no satisfaction, I turned my thoughts inward.” she looked up to Shiro’s glowing blue eyes. “if we had sent an army, a raid party, or even a fire-team, the chances of an unnecessary loss would have skyrocketed, and...” she paused for a second, casting her eyes back down to her hands and willing herself to say what she had been avoiding, a result she had until now refused to face. “And despite all how much I despaired, Cayde was still just a single guardian, a loss of another guardian wouldn’t have changed that. simple numbers.”

As Ikora stared down at her hands, clenched into fists, another gloved hand appeared, looking up slightly, Ikora watched Shiro place his right hand over top her left, a small gesture of reassurance. “from up in the tower, it all seems like simple math and science.” he said, his tone soft. “if we lose two guardians instead of one, its a net loss, if we don’t prove a point here or there, net loss.” he stared at Ikora intently. “but down here, when the enemy really hits home, its not so simple anymore.” Ikora nodded, and Shiro sat back in his chair, pouring some of the wine at the table into a spare glass and pushing it towards her. “I know it’s tough, believe me, but it’ll get better. I promise” Ikora nodded, removing her teal helmet. as the cool air hit her face, she felt her eyes burn, withing the confines and filtered air of her helmet, she had failed to realize she had begun to cry. “thank you Shiro.” she managed, her voice warbling as she spoke; she grasped the glass and took a sip, it had a strange, sour flavor to it, but not a flavor she despised. Shiro emptied his glass of water before filling it again with wine, and raised it slightly. “to Cayde.” Ikora nodded and raised her glass slightly off the table as well.

Ikora couldnt help but giggle as Shiro regaled her with yet another tale of Cayde’s antics before he became a vanguard, tipping back her glass, Ikora noticed she had run out of wine again, and went to pour more wine into her glass another time, only to have none pour from the bottle. as she sat there, pondering why nothing was happening, Shiro gently took the bottle from her hand, and placed it on the table, next to the other empty bottle. “I think that’s enough Ikora, its getting late.” Ikora stared at him, dumbfounded. “It is?” she peered up at the small clock on a nearby wall, trying to will her vision to stop wobbling so she could see the time. Shiro took her gently by the arm, and led her out of the bar, and Ikora had to admit, the cool night air did help straighten out her vision a bit, but not her balance, as she would have almost immediately fallen had it not been for Shiro’s support. leaning her full weight against him, she stumbled along with him back in the vague direction of the tower. as he helped her into her dormitory, Ikora put her free hand on his shoulder. “I wanted to thank you Shiro, it was nice to be away from the tower for a while.” Shiro seemed to nod. “whatever you say Ikora, you should get some sleep.” not that it had been mentioned, Ikora felt the weight of exhaustion creeping over her body, nodding along with him, she mumbled. “yes, sleep would be nice...” Shiro helped her over to the couch, too unfamiliar with the layout of her room to help her to her bed, before turning to leave. “try to take it easy tomorrow Ikora.” he called over his shoulder, Ikora simply waved her hand in agreement, pulling Invective off of her shoulder, and allowing it to drop onto the ground with a loud thud. the last thing she remembered was watching Shiro close the door behind him, bathing the room in darkness.

#syntheticspacemagic #Ikora Rey X Shiro-4 #rarepair anyone?#destiny #destiny 2 #destiny 2: forsaken #Destiny2 #Destiny Forsaken Spoilers #Fic #fiction #House-of-kells #ikora rey #Shiro-4 #hunters deal with grief poorly

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ailuronymy · 3 years

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do you think every disabled character in wc is handled poorly? i understand theres def some cases of ableism but at the same time when i hear ppl say that its usually bc the disabled cat wasnt able to become a warrior due to their disability. and i feel like ppl forget, that not everyone irl CAN do what they want after they become disabled. ex. someone wants to be an athlete, but their legs have to be amputated. a cat like briarlight esp i feel is p realistic and could be a source of comfort

Hello there, thank you for writing in. I’m going to reply to this question with a series of questions I think are a bit more useful, given what you’re trying to ask me. I hope that’ll clarify what is a deeply complex, multilayered issue.

Do I think Erin Hunter handles anything in the series “well”? Not really. I don’t have a high opinion of the work of the collective and, broadly speaking, I think every right note they play, metaphorically speaking, is an instance of chance rather than effort, skill, or intention. Stopped clocks are right twice a day, mediocre writers will sometimes do something cool by accident, similar principle. That’s not to say Erin Hunter hasn’t ever done anything on purpose--just that overall the underlying drive of the series isn’t so much quality as it is quantity, and speed of production, and it shows.

Do I think Erin Hunter puts any significant research into how they portray disability? No. I do not think it is a priority for this series. They’re not trying to make a meaningful work of literature, or capture a realistic experience of disability, or tell especially impactful or thoughtful stories, or even make a particularly good or coherent fantasy world. Warriors is a specifically commercial product that was commissioned by HarperCollins to appeal to a particular demographic of drama-loving, cat-loving kids. It’s not really trying to do anything but sell books, because it’s a business, so the text in many ways reflects that. They’re not going for disability representation, in my opinion. They’re including disability in many cases as a plot-point or an obstacle.

Do I think this means that people can’t connect to these characters and narratives in meaningful ways? No. Often I say that a work is completed only when it is read. Before that point, it doesn’t have a meaning: a reader finishes the work through the act of reading, and interpretation, and filling in the spaces and resonance of the story with their own values and experiences. When people talk about subjectivity, this is what they are talking about. What this means in the context of disabled characters in Warriors is that these characters and their stories can be multiple, conflicting, even mutually exclusive things at the same time, to different people, for different reasons.

Do I think characters have to be “good” to be significant to someone? No. I think genuinely “bad” (i.e., not researched or poorly researched, cliche, thoughtlessly written, problematic, etc. etc.) characters can be deeply meaningful, and often are. Ditto above: for many people, and especially marginalised or stigmatised people, reading is almost always an act of translation, wherein the person is reading against the creative work of the dominant culture in a way that the author likely didn’t intend or didn’t even imagine. There’s a long documented history of this in queer culture, but it’s true for just about everyone who is rarely (or unfairly) represented in media. Disabled people often have to read deeply imperfect works of fiction featuring disability and reinterpret them in the process--whether to relate to a kind of disability they don’t experience themselves but which is the closest they’re offered to something familiar, or to turn positive and meaningful what is intended as narrative punishment, or simply to create what’s commonly called headcanon about “non-disabled” characters who echo their personal experiences.

Do I think everyone has to agree? Extremely no. As I said before, people will actually always disagree, because all people have different needs and different experiences. What can be interpreted as empowering to one person might be very othering and painful for another. There is no “right” answer, because, again, that is how subjectivity works. This is especially true because marginalised communities are often many different kinds of people with different lives and needs brought together over a trait or traits they share due to the need for solidarity as protection and power--but only in a broad sense. It’s why there is often intracommunity fighting over representation: there isn’t enough, there’s only scraps, and so each person’s personal interpretation can feel threatening to people whose needs are different. You can see examples of this especially when it comes to arguments over character sexuality: a queer female character might be interpreted as bisexual by bisexual people who relate to her and want her to be, while being interpreted as lesbian by lesbians who also relate to her and want her to be like them. Who is correct? Often these different interpretations based on different needs are presented as if one interpretation is theft from the other, when in fact the situation is indicative of the huge dearth of options for queer people. It becomes increasingly more intense when it comes to “canon” representations, because of the long history of having to read against the grain I mentioned above: there’s novelty and, for some people, validation in “canon” certainty. And again, all of this is also true for disabled people and other stigmatised groups.

Do I think this is a problem? Not exactly. It is what it is. It is the expected effect of the circumstances. Enforced scarcity creates both the need for community organising and solidarity and the oppressive pressure to prioritise one’s self first and leave everyone else in the dust (or else it might happen to you). The system will always pit suppressed people against each other constantly, because it actively benefits from intracommunity fighting. Who needs enemies when you have friends like these, and so on. A solution is absolutely for everyone in community to hold space for these different needs and values, and to uplift and support despite these differences, but it’s not anyone’s fault for feeling threatened or upset when you don’t have much and feel like the thing that you do have is being taken away. It’s a normal, if not really helpful, human response. But until people learn and internalised that the media is multifaceted and able to be many things at once, without any of those things being untrue or impacting your truth of the text, then there will be fighting.

Do I think my opinion on disability on Warriors is all that important? No, not really. I can relate to some characters in some moment through that translation, but my opinion on, say, Jayfeather is nowhere near as worthy of consideration than that of someone who is blind. I don’t have that experience and it’s not something I can bring meaningful thinking about, really. That’s true for all these characters. If you want to learn about disability, prioritise reading work about disabled rights and activism that is done by disabled people, and literary criticism from disabled people. And as I mentioned above, remember that community isn’t a monolith: it’s a survival tactic, that brings together many different people with disparate experiences of the world. So research widely.

Finally--do I think there’s only one kind of disabled narrative worth telling? No. For some people, a disabled character achieving a specific, ability-focused dream is a good story. For other people, a story that acknowledges and deals with the realities, and limitations, of disability is a good story. The same person might want both of those stories at different times, depending on their mood. That’s okay. Sometimes there’s power and delight in a fantasy of overcoming seemingly impossible obstacles and defying all expectations. Sometimes there’s value and catharsis in a narrative that delves into the challenges and grief and oppression experienced because of disability. There’s no one truth.

To round all this off, I’m going to give my favourite example of this, which is Cinderella. I think it’s a great and useful tool, since for many it’s familiar and it’s very simple. Not much happens. In the story, she is bullied and tormented, until a fairy godmother gifts her over several nights with the opportunity to go to a royal ball, where she dances with a prince. The prince eventually is able to find Cinderella, due to a shoe left behind, and they are married. In some versions, the family that mistreated her are killed. In others, they’re forgiven.

Some people hate the story of Cinderella, because she is seen as passive. She tolerates the bullying and never fights back. She does every chore she’s told. She is given an opportunity by a fairy godmother, and she doesn’t help herself go to the ball. She runs from the prince and he does the work to find her again. Eventually, she’s married and the prince, presumably, keeps her in happiness and comfort for the rest of her life.

For some, this story is infuriating, because Cinderella doesn’t “save herself”: she is largely saved by external forces. She is seen as a quintessential damsel-in-distress, and especially for people who have been bullied, infantalised, or made to feel less capable or weak, that can be a real point of personal pain and discomfort.

However, for some others, Cinderella is a figure of strength, because she is able to endure such hostile environments and terrible people and never gives up her gentle nature or her hope. She never becomes cruel, or bitter. She is brave in daring to go outside her tiny, trapped world, and she is brave to let the prince find her. She doesn’t have to fight or struggle to earn her reward of happiness and prove her worth, because she was always deserving of love and kindness. The prince recognises at once, narratively speaking, her goodness and virtue, and stops at nothing to deliver her a better life.

Depending on the version, the wicked family disfigure themselves for their own greed--or are punished, which for some is a revenge fantasy; or Cinderella forgives them and once again shows her tenacious kindness, which for others is a different revenge fantasy.

The point? Cinderella is the same character in the same story, but these are almost unrecognisable readings when you put them side-by-side. Which one is right? Which one is better? In my opinion, those are the wrong questions. I hope this (long, sorry) reply is a set of more useful ones.

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first-and-last-neocount · 3 years

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Whumptober Day 6

While still falling under the definition of whump, I intentionally aimed for something a little less soul-crushing this time, since I figured I would be evoking some Feels with that last one. XD

This one isn’t directly tied to anything else, and it shouldn’t be so heart-wrenching; it’s just me projecting pandemic feels all over poor Damien, because I’m an introvert who isn’t physically affectionate with more than a handful of my closest friends anyway, but even I really felt it when we all had to go months on end without touching another human being. Not fun, dude.

Day 6 - Theme Chosen: Touch starved

Theoretically, it should never have happened. With the way their journey had gone so far, when he thought about it, Damien was almost surprised it hadn't happened sooner.

Trapped aboard the God's Glory for months on end, isolated from the crew by their enduring wariness of the Hunter and his companions, unable to hasten their progress and weighed down by the growing fear of what would be waiting for them when they made landfall again, Damien was slowly driving himself insane. With every day that passed, the knot of frustration and dread pulled tighter in his gut. His temper shortened in response, and by now he had grown so tense and snappish that he couldn't even blame the crew's avoidance of him entirely on Tarrant; he knew he wasn't exactly great company anymore.

The death of the girl from the Eastern Continent had only worsened his already foul mood. The toxic mixture of guilt, resentment, and panic that had filled him upon realizing what her death meant – that he himself would have to go back to feeding his dark companion, at least until they made landfall in Faraday – still lingered, even though it had been two days since Sisa's suicide. He'd been given those two days as a grace period, time to mentally prepare himself as best he could, but the Hunter had given him clear warning; tonight, the nightmares would start again.

All of this meant that, when Damien laid down in his bunk that night, he was wound tighter than a springbolt at full draw. He had fully expected the turmoil in his mind to keep him up for hours, but with the forced inactivity of being at sea came a paradoxical lethargy, and he wasn't alone with his circling thoughts for more than an hour or so before he gradually sank into an uneasy slumber.

The dreams came almost at once.

Vivid as all the Hunter's carefully-woven nightmares were, Damien could feel the awful wrenching shudder that went through the ship as the hull ground onto the unforgiving rocks, hear the shattering of wood and the screech of metal as they collided with the outcropping of black stone that had been masked by the thick fog lying over the turbulent waves. Terror ran like acid through his veins as the deck tilted under his feet, the ship listing badly as water flooded through the gaping hole in the bow; he grasped the rail to keep himself upright, the screams of the crew ringing in his ears – but as he stared down into the churning black ocean, something sparked in the back of his mind.

The dark waves. Drowning. A girl.

Sisa.

His awareness that it was a dream blended with the hot spike of rage at the thought of another innocent life lost to the Hunter's insatiable hunger, and the scene around him shattered like glass. The deck was level again, the ocean calm; the stars glimmered down from a cloudless night sky, the ship deathly quiet and seemingly deserted around him.

You're resistant tonight.

The Hunter's voice slithered through his mind, soft and thoughtful, edged with hunger – and reality bent around him once more.

The village of the Terata. The hideous corruption that had lurked beneath its veneer of normalcy. The acid sting of desperation in the air as the villagers made their supplication to their sadistic god. The illusion of childhood's innocence, and the terrible reality that it hid -

But the sight of the children made Damien's thoughts turn to Jenseny, and the grief that rose up and choked him was so strong that it nearly brought him awake, a cry of pain catching in his throat as the image of the village dissolved around him. Tarrant's will wrapped around him and pulled him back under, an almost soothing tenor to the thread of fae that stroked his mind.

Too raw, still. Perhaps...

Another shift, then another. Scenes of terror from Damien's memories, or half-formed fears of the future, woven into shape by Tarrant's power. Every vista that presented itself, though, Damien fought against; though his awareness of what was happening was subsumed at the beginning of each dream, his mind rebelled continuously, breaking through to lucidity each time and shredding the delicate fabric of the nightmare in the process. As one dreamscape dissolved and reformed into another, there was a moment where Damien surfaced enough to actually feel a bit guilty; he'd agreed to this deal after all, once in the rakhlands and again after Sisa had killed herself, and he didn't even know why his mind refused to settle enough to be fully immersed in any of the scenarios Tarrant was weaving.

That moment stretched as he lingered in unformed darkness, as though the Hunter had hesitated. Finally, new scenery shimmered into being. Still caught in that state of half-awareness, Damien watched the dream come to life around him, willing himself to just let go and fall into it -

The chamber that formed around him was the throne room of the Undying Prince's citadel.

Nothing else had taken shape yet. There was no time for it. Before any figures could form, before a single sound had echoed through the room, Damien's mind spun out of control. The terror he'd felt, realizing that he was once again powerless before a mortal tyrant with the power of a sadistic demon backing them; the utter grief that had devastated him when he realized that Jenseny was gone; the gutting betrayal of believing that the Hunter had betrayed them; the sheer blinding fear, realizing that Tarrant had still been an ally after all, and that he might pay for that with his life before Damien could reach him -

Damien snapped awake violently, breathing so hard that his chest ached and the room spun violently around him, nausea thick in his throat and his skin drenched in ice-cold sweat. He sat bolt upright in his bunk, clenching fistfuls of his sheets with shaking hands as he stared blindly at the wall of his cabin, adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

Before he had even coaxed his breathing back to something resembling a normal rate, there was a firm but quiet knock at his door.

Damien let his head fall forward, biting out a soft curse under his breath. It didn't take much luck to guess who would be knocking at his door at this hour – he was fairly sure he hadn't actually cried out aloud when he'd catapulted himself back into wakefulness, which meant there was only one other person likely to even be awake right now.

“Come in,” he said hoarsely.

The door opened, then clicked shut again. Damien didn't look up, his gaze still fixed on the crumpled bedclothes he was gripping with white knuckles, but he didn't need to visually confirm the identity of his visitor; he could feel the shift in the air, that insidious chill that the Hunter wore like a shroud. Swallowing back the bile that still roiled in his throat, Damien beat back his pride enough to offer a quiet apology.

“Sorry. I didn't do that on purpose. I don't know why I couldn't just...”

“I could hazard a guess.”

Startled, Damien finally looked up. Tarrant had stopped only a couple feet away, and was leaning against the cabin wall with his arms folded across his chest, regarding Damien thoughtfully. Despite the lack of hostility, the Knight still shivered a little under the scrutiny of those cold silver eyes. Cocking an eyebrow questioningly, he stared back at the adept.

“Alright, then. Let's hear it.”

Of course, the Hunter couldn't simply state his theory. He studied Damien a moment longer, then murmured, “You haven't been sleeping well, have you? Even before tonight.”

Damien frowned at him. “Not particularly, no. Why?”

“You're unable to settle yourself. You've been sleeping poorly, your mind is in turmoil, and don't think I haven't noticed your shortness with the crew – or forgotten your outburst the other day.” Damien winced a little at the reminder of how he'd blown up at the Hunter immediately after Sisa's suicide, but there was no judgement in the adept's tone or expression, only contemplation. “You don't have any close connections to most of those aboard, and if you'll forgive me the observation, you don't have an... intimate companion, this time around.”

Damien was drawing a breath to snap at the Hunter that he didn't see how, exactly, his relationship with Raysa was any of the adept's damn business – when it abruptly clicked in his head, and he deflated, staring at the adept.

“You're blaming touch starvation.” The words came out flat, more statement than question but tinged with disbelief. When Tarrant inclined his head slightly, Damien huffed out a humourless chuckle. “You can't be serious.”

“Why not?” Tarrant asked coolly, his gaze still locked on Damien, piercing and assessing. “It's a scientifically documented phenomenon. We've been at sea for months, and I doubt you've had more contact than accidentally brushing arms with one of the crew since we set sail. The common symptoms are irritability, anxiety, and depression. It strikes me as an entirely likely explanation.”

“Fine, then what the hell do you suggest I do about it?” Damien snapped, hating himself as he did so, because his fuse had never been so short and by the look on Tarrant's face he knew it too. “In case you failed to notice or give a damn, Rasya's dead, and I don't exactly have a long lineup of friends at hand to hug it out with. I guess you're just going to have to work a bit harder for your dinner.”

Tarrant's face had gone utterly blank for a moment at the mention of Rasya's name, and for a split second Damien wondered almost hysterically if he actually had forgotten – but the horrified thought was cut off when the adept said, in a tone as bland as one might use to discuss the weather, “There's another option.”

Damien stared at him for a moment. Tarrant gazed back, unruffled. Finally, the Knight said slowly, “Now I know you're definitely just messing with my head. You're not suggesting what it sounds like you're suggesting.”

“No need to look quite so scandalized, Vryce, I'm hardly propositioning you,” Tarrant said dryly, his tone infuriatingly amused. “You're correct, however, that skin contact is the only cure and your options in that department are limited. If you'd like, I certainly could continue mentally assaulting you for sustenance – you were undeniably producing enough terror and distress earlier, though I suspect you'll find that sort of feeding even more exhausting that the usual method, and I'll have to draw from you more frequently to compensate for the additional effort I'm expending.” He watched Damien pale, then quirked one fair eyebrow up, mouth twisting into a rare, wry grin. “Or, you could budge over a few inches.”

Damien hesitated for a moment longer; then, he groaned and shuffled himself sideways, pressing closer to the wall and leaving the outer edge of the bunk free.

“I hate you,” he announced flatly, watching the adept prowl gracefully across the small cabin toward him.

“Your feelings have been noted, Reverend.” In a few smooth movements Tarrant had kicked off his boots, slid his long frame elegantly onto the bunk, and reached out; caught completely off guard by the manhandling, Damien let himself be tugged almost effortlessly down and arranged to the Hunter's liking. He found himself facing the wall, a lean form pressed close against his back and one of the adept's arms a cool weight draped across his side. “Now get some sleep.”

A thousand replies crowded to the front of Damien's mind, but sheer confusion stayed his tongue from a sharp retort. As the initial shock faded, he realized how incredibly comfortable he actually was. He had certainly missed the weight of another body in bed with him over the last months; he had rarely slept alone since reaching adulthood, since he had almost continuously been in a relationship of one degree of seriousness or another and had always been the type to stay the night. He usually slept by himself only when he was travelling, and that had never been for as long a stretch of time as this voyage. Finding himself as the proverbial little spoon was considerably more novel, Damien's senses jangling a bit at the strangeness of being the one held instead of the one holding another – but as his instincts accepted that he was not in fact in any danger and relaxed, he found himself almost unwilling comforted. He could feel the Hunter breathing steadily against his back, and the deceptively human sensation unwound tension in his shoulders that Damien hadn't even known he had been carrying. Even though the adept's body was considerably cooler than a mortal human's would have been, he was still there, and Damien could feel his own skin tingling with a kind of sensory euphoria everywhere that the Hunter's weight rested against him.

Maybe there was something to the touch starvation theory after all, as much as it pained him to admit it.

The window to reply to the Hunter's comment slipped away, and Damien said nothing, just shifted and settled his head a little more comfortably onto the pillow. Tarrant's arm tightened a bit further around his waist, an undeniably grounding pressure, and Damien sighed without meaning to as a tiny panicked voice that had been babbling in the back of his mind for weeks went abruptly, blissfully quiet. He was far from ready to say that this had been a good idea, but he supposed it wouldn't hurt to stay this way for a few minutes, let Tarrant think that he'd at least given it a fair shot before he kicked the adept the hell out of his bunk...

Between one breath and the next, Damien fell asleep.

#whumptober2021 #no.6 #Touch Starved #coldfire trilogy #fic #evil is what you make of it #gerald tarrant #damien vryce #the neocount writes

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kyber-kisses · 4 years

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I, Alone

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: cursing, canon level gore, character death. . . angst.

Summary: when a simple hunt goes terribly wrong, y/n is the only person who can attempt to fix it. . .but at what cost?

A/n: had this idea rolling around for the past few days, if it gets enough likes I’ll write a six part story for it! Hope y’all enjoy and feedback is appreciated! I was also listening to Ashes by Claire Guerreso so if you really wanna vibe with this fic. . .

Pacing back and forth across the old frayed carpet of the run down motel you gnawed almost mindlessly are your nails, eyes darting across the darkened room to the two motel beds. The silhouettes of two bodies making your stomach churn. Your tears had long since dried on your cheeks, your energy drained to almost nothing.

It was never supposed to go like this.

It was supposed to be a simple hunt. Three hunters against a couple spirits. No big deal. Ghosts where practically a milk run case at this point in your career. . . So why did it end the way that it had?

You had to think of something. Anything to fix what had happened.

You paused your pacing at the foot of the nearest bed, eyes falling over the now cold corpse of one Dean Winchester. Through the darkness you could still easily make out the massive tears in his shirt, now darkened with drying blood. A few feet away his brother lay in a similar position, chest still and unmoving.

You wanted to cry, scream, anything to release all the emotions bubbling up inside you, but you remained stoic, too tired to even attempt a lone shriek.

They were gone. The closest thing you ever had gotten to a family now lay lifeless and cold on faded cotton sheets. Hazel and green eyes now permanently shut to this earthly plane-

No. No- quickly shaking the thoughts from your head you ran a bloody hand through your hair, sinking to the balls of your feet between the two mattresses.

“Please forgive me.” You whispered, popping back up on your heels and reaching for the impalas keys.

You had one card left to play, and damn if you weren’t going to use it.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Emotions were an annoying thing.

They always found a way of weaseling through the cracks in the walls you put up to keep yourself steady. They gnaw at your insides and make you lose control of what little you did have reined in. But right now you were trying harder than ever to force them back down your gullet.

This was for the best. . . Even if it meant giving up your days to make sure they had some left.

The countryside lay dark and quiet as you walked across the ground, boots crunching against gravel while you shifted the small box in your arms. The air was thick with the scent of yarrow flowers, almost to the point in which you believed you could wrap yourself in it. Jaw clenched like a shock absorber for your emotions you knelt down to place the old shoe box in the ground.

It almost seemed too simple- at least for something of this scale. The contents of the box rattled as you set it down. Grave dirt, the bones of a black cat and a picture of yourself. The three small ingredients that would cook up your fate.

Quickly burying the box, you said the words before waiting patiently. A soft summer breeze blew across the crossroads making a shiver crawl up your spine. You weren’t scared though. You were just eager to put things back together.

If Dean were here he would be telling you that you were blinded by grief, that you weren’t thinking straight. . . But then again if he were here you wouldn’t be doing this in the first place.

Dean was gone. He was laying lifeless in a cheap and darkened motel room next to his baby brother. . . But he wouldn’t be that way for long- not if you could help it.

Growing impatient, you threw back your head “You really gonna make me wait here all night?!”

“Careful Sugar, you’ll wake the neighbors.”

At the sound of the new voice you dropped your shoulders, spinning around on your heel to meet the black eyed gaze of the crossroad demon before you. Long black hair cascaded down her shoulders, red lips twisted up in an amused smirk.

“You normally keep people waiting like that?” Shoving your hands into the pockets of your coat, you took steady strides across the empty road towards her, showing her that you weren’t afraid.

“Only ones with an attitude like yours.” Tilting her head she stepped forward, heels grinding against the loose gravel as she circled you. “Now tell me, what is Nancy Drew doing all the way out here? I doubt the Hardy boys would be pleased to hear you’re out in the dark with a demon. . .” She paused, eyes scanning over your face. “That is unless they’re d-“

“I need you to bring them back.” Your words coming out sharp as you glared back at her, jaw still clenched.

“Oh and why would I do that? If the Winchesters are really dead- then it’s best for my species if they stay that way. Doesn’t make much sense to bring our biggest threat back onto the playing field.”

Taking a deep breath you continued to try and keep you emotions under lock, but unable to hide the waver in your voice. “Please. They’re all that I have.”

You watched her expression shift momentarily, pausing her steps to think. After what felt like an excruciatingly long minute, the corners of her lips turned up in a smirk.

“Alright, fine. I’ll bring back your precious Winchesters. . . But you will not be around to see it.”

You wish you could say you were shaken by her words, but wasn’t that the whole reason why you came out here in the first place? To pawn away your life in exchange for the people you loved most in this world?

“Fine by me. My soul is yours for the taking.”

“Oh I don’t want your soul.” She cooed, moving to drag a single perfectly manicured nail along your jaw. “Seeing as I am bring back the Winchesters of all people, I thought I would make it a little interesting.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that instead of marking your soul for hell, I’m going to strip all memories of you from their minds.” She explained, watching in amusement as your face fell. “They wont remember you and you will have to live the rest of your days knowing that.”

“Why?”

“Oh I think you should be able to piece that together for yourself. Yes I could always physically torture you in the pit- but mental torture is so much more fun.” She grinned. “That is the price if you want me to bring your beloved Dean Winchester back from the great beyond.”

Her last words successfully made you freeze, your entire body going rigid as your wall keeping your emotions back began to crack.

“Oh yes, I know about that too. It’s so easy to see in the way you look at him.” She cooed, clearly finding your pain amusing. “Miss Y/N Y/L/N. . . In love with the righteous man. Too bad he’ll never know.”

Push them back down Y/N, push your emotions back down. She’s trying to break you. Don’t let her.

“Deal.”

And with one quick step she had her lips against yours and your fate was set in stone.

“Oh, and best be gone before they wake up. You wouldn't want your deal to go bad so soon.”

*. *. *. *. *.

The air felt heavier from the moment you slid back out from behind the wheel of the impala. Maybe it was the fact that you knew it would be the last time you sat on the worn leather seats- or maybe it was just the utter weight of emotions still rising inside you.

Rolling the keys in your hand you slowly eased open the door to the motel room, stepping back into the poorly air conditioned space. You didn’t bother turning on the lights, the neon sign just beyond the moth eaten curtains illuminating the area just enough. All you had to do was grab your belongings and high tail it out of there before they woke up.

Quickly crossing the room, you placed the keys of the impala back on the nightstand where Dean had last left them before crossing over to the small table and haphazardly tossing all of your things into your duffel and shouldering it.

It was best if you moved quickly and didn’t dwell on your emotions. If you stopped you were sure to break. No second glances or momentary pauses. Eyes on the road ahead. Don’t look back.

Unfortunately you made it all of five steps to the door before that entire plan flew out the window. Your steps faltered and before you could stop yourself you were looking back over your shoulder at the occupied beds.

Even from your spot you could see that your deal was already taking affect. Their shirts were no longer in tatters and the blood was gone, almost as if it had never been there to begin with. In the dim light you could see the slow and steady rise of Deans chest telling you that he was alive. That’s he was okay. And that your work was now done.

Slowly sinking to sit on the side of the bed, you folded your hands, finding it difficult all of a sudden to look up. You had to say something- even if he couldn't hear you.

“Goodbyes are never easy, are they? And it isn’t easy to leave when it’s the only option available.” You words coming out in almost a whisper as you spoke. “I have so many things I want to say to you- but they fall short knowing that you won’t hear them.”

Another crack in your wall formed when you looked over at the relaxed facial expression on Dean, his eyelashes fluttering in his sleep. It was rare to see him this peaceful- this calm. But you drew comfort knowing you had helped make him that way.

The crack was enough to fill your eyes with tears. “And here I am having to say goodbye to the only person that I felt cared, the only person that I felt happy around.” You paused, finding the words stuck in your throat. “How am I supposed to just do that without feeling like I’ve lost a part of me?” Your voice finally cracking as you felt the first wave of hot tears run down your face. “All those times we would just laugh and talk and do normal things that normal people did- I had never been more happy.”

As much as you know it’s best for you, and him- and everyone you can’t ignore the inexplicable pain your carrying in your chest. Even though you want to hug him and stay by his side longer, you can’t. Waking up to a stranger would be a confusing feeling for him and a painful one for you.

“I never expected our lives to separate one day. We’ve known each other since we were kids.” You continued, delicately lacing your hand through his now warm one. “But I’ll never forget the moments you laughed with me, cried with me, helped me. . . And vice versa. But you’ll still have Sam and Cas. . . And in the end you’ll be okay.”

Pushing yourself up from the bed, you let go of his hand, using the back of it to wipe away the tears. Before you could walk towards the door though you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, paying no attention the the stray tear splashing down onto his face.

“Just know that whatever comes next, I love you.” Your whisper barely audible to your own ears. The words were pointless though. He wouldn’t hear them or remember them.

And before you could realize it you had your duffel back on your shoulder and you were slipping out the door. Leaving everything you called home behind.

Crossing through the almost empty parking lot you set your sights on the future. The next course of action was to hot wire a car and get back to the bunker. You still had belongings there that you needed to pack up before the brothers returned home.

Walking across the street you could feel the rough cracks in the asphalt through the soles of your boots, each steps feeling as though you had lead strapped to your feet. It was only when you reached the alleyway close ahead that you stopped once more, the magnetic pull of your family tightening around your core as you looked back, just in time to see shadows pass by the now lit up room you had just exited.

And the remaining pieces of the wall you had tried so desperately to fortify crumbled, taking you with it. A choked sob left your throat and your hand flew out to steady yourself of the brick wall- but the support didn’t last long before you knees buckled and you slid down the wall, sobbing into your hands just beyond reach of the nearest street lamp. Tears of both relief and anguish soaked your cheeks and you didn’t try to stop them.

They were alive. But you weren’t so sure about yourself.

SPN Taglist (Still open)

@familybusinesswritingbro@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti @callmekda @jordangdelacruz @orphiceseum @andthatsmyworld @marvelfangirllll @fandomnerdespressourself @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx @lxstgxrl-ck @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl @neerness @totallyluciferr @supernaturalenchanted @dolanfivsosxox@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts @akshi8278 @defenderrosetyler @heyyy-hey-babyyy @idksupernatural @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #spn x reader #bi-danvers writing #dean winchester series #dean winchester angst

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wingedwalls · 3 years

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Teen Wolf Season 1 from Derek’s POV

So I actually think Derek’s character is very consistently written, and that seasons 1 and 2 are examples of excellent writing (I know, shocker of an unpopular opinion around here 😂). I've been thinking about Derek's portrayal, and what the story looks like from his perspective, and it's like a different show altogether, so I thought I'd share.

Let’s take a moment to think about The Story So Far, from Derek’s POV:

• Derek was an arrogant jock brought up in a loving but very large family (ie used to a certain level of independence, and who would need to really act up for any adult other than Uncle Peter to pay attention and get involved).

• Not going to go into the Paige thing at this point, in case anyone reading this has only seen season 1.

• Falls for Kate, who takes advantage of him and eventually burns down his house, with all of his family in it except one of his sisters. Comes back from school to find his home burnt down, his family dead, and puts two and two together in his mind. What would young Derek have learned from that? A few things: don’t trust people, ever. It makes you too vulnerable. Don’t let people in, it puts you and yours in literal danger. It’s All His Fault and he basically killed his family. And - Seduction is power.

• Moves to New York and tries to get over this trauma. Probably doesn’t get very far, since the number one lesson he learned in his life is Don’t Let People In. He becomes a very angry person.

• Eventually Laura tells him she’s off to Beacon Hills to investigate. This is probably not something that came out of the blue, rather she was probably investigating the cause of the fire as a way of coping with her grief. Not only does Derek not have that, he had to spend 6 years watching her do that, knowing that he was responsible for their deaths (in his mind), and not being able to say anything. Either she wouldn’t figure it out, and he would feel guilty forever, or she would, and she would hate him forever. He lived with this eating him up for 6 years. Then off to Beacon Hills she goes, saying she’s close to figuring something out, but not telling Derek why.

• Then she goes radio silent. Derek has no reason to equate this radio silence with anything other than “she found out it was me, and now she hates me.” But Laura is literally all he has. So he goes to Beacon Hill the next morning, to try and explain. Instead, he finds half of her dead body in the woods. That’s the dead body of the last person who ever cared about him. (Not counting Peter - because while Derek cares for Peter, who was arguably his closest family member before the fire, he doesn’t expect him to ever recover). Laura is dead, and it’s probably hunters, and the only way to not let guilt and grief take over is to focus on his anger. He takes Laura back to the burnt out husk of his family home, and buries her under the family symbol for revenge.

• Literally within a few hours of him finding Laura’s body, two people come sniffing around the exact scene of the crime. He goes to check it out - it’s clear they’ve been here before (he found the inhaler) but it’s also clear they’re not hunters. They’re useless teenagers. One of them smells like a wolf. He tells them to fuck off.

• These two kids might not have been hunters, but there’s something weird going on with them. So he stalks them to try and find out what’s going on.

• Turns out this Scott kid was newly bitten. There’s something else going on here - an alpha who isn’t Laura. He’s apparently turning people, making new wolves. Is this a good thing or a bad thing? He’s not sure.

• But things are getting more complicated - the Argents are back. Not Kate, no, thank god, but her brother and his kid. And Scott is making all of the same mistakes he used to make - he needs to stop this before it all blows up in his face.

• Before he gets a chance to get his mind around any of this, let alone mourn the loss of his sister whose body he just discovered a couple of days ago, shit hits the fan and those asshole teenagers GET HIM ARRESTED FOR LAURA’S MURDER. That’s what he gets for not being distrustful enough of people. These idiots are going around like they know everything, when it’s clear they know NOTHING. He tells them exactly that.

• There’s not enough evidence, and so after this utterly humiliating experience, they let him go. Despite this, nobody doubts for a second that Derek is guilty.

• The one saving grace in this situation is that the Argents don’t know he’s here. But Scott is still making all the same mistakes Derek made in the past. And so Derek, who hasn’t had a single friend in literal YEARS, is poorly socialised, and has only ever had the great example of Peter as a mentor, actually tries to take Scott under his wing. He really, really *tries*. He just sucks at it.

• Scratch that, the Argents know he’s here, and they know who he is. He was just minding his own business at the service station when Argent tried to intimidate him and smashed up his car.

• This rogue alpha situation is becoming a problem, so Derek begins to go out at night and look for him.

• One such night he’s out tracking the alpha, there’s a commotion. The alpha attacks a car. As Derek moves to get closer, he gets shot in the leg. Uh oh. Hopefully it’ll heal. He slinks back to the preserve and his burnt out husk of a house.

• Well, shit. It was a Wolfsbane bullet. It’s not healing. That is NOT good. He needs help, or he’s going to die.

• Derek has not asked for help in a very long time. Not as a teenager, when it would’ve made him look weak, and not since the fire, because he literally doesn’t trust anyone enough to help. But this time he’s completely alone. And if he doesn’t get help, he’s going to die. SCOTT. Scott can help. He’s been helping Scott, so Scott owes him. He’s an idiot, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Scott needs his help, so Scott needs him alive, so Scott will help.

• Scott doesn’t care. Derek makes him to the school, barely conscious, and asks Scott’s peer - Jackson - where he is. That asshole won’t even tell him. He tries to carry on but pretty much passes out in the corridor. He’s literally on the brink of death in a building full of people, and is actively asking for help, and NOBODY CARES. NOBODY even STOPS.

• Eventually he makes it out, finds Scott and his friend, and they tell him to fuck off. Seriously?! He passes out again. Scott is like “Stiles, you deal with him, I don’t have time for this shit.” And leaves. They keep joking about letting him die.

• For all the nasty comments, that kid driving the jeep is the only one who actually hasn’t left him to die. Scratch that, he wants to dump him at his house and ditch him. His house with no locks where everyone who wants him dead knows to find him. Derek starts to panic.

• Derek has hours left to live and nobody is helping. Even though he has made it simple for them and told them exactly how to help. Scott, the one person he thought might care, is literally taking his time having dinner with his abusers’ daughter instead of doing the one thing that can save his life. Fuck it, he’s just going to cut off his own arm.

• Scott makes it back with the bullet in the nick of time. Fuck people.

• To add insult to injury, Derek has a run in with Chris at the service station and he smashes up his car.

• Derek is back at home, minding his own business, when the literal worst thing that could possibly happen happens. KATE ARGENT shows up in his home. The last time she was here, she was burning his family alive. She shows up with guns, incapacitates him, taunts him about his dead sister, his dead family, tries to pump him for information, and when none is forthcoming and it becomes clear he’s “outlived his usefulness” - she tries to kill him.

• Derek runs. The house isn’t safe anymore.

• Derek still tries. He tries to make an ally out of Scott. He’s the only non-psychopathic werewolf left in Beacon Hills. Derek has no pack, no one. They’re stronger and safer together. If only he would stop being such an idiot.

• His search for the alpha points to Deaton. The guy clearly knows things. Things about him. He is not forthcoming with information. Derek has no time for this shit. He roughs him up a bit. Unfortunately, Scott picks that night to come up with the stupidest plan EVER and apparently decides to broadcast his existence to all of Beacon Hills. Aaand then he gets mauled by the alpha.

• To add insult to injury, when he comes to Derek finds out that Scott has thrown him under the bus by telling the fucking sheriff that he, Derek Hale, trapped a bunch of kids at the school, kept them hostage, and killed a man. Great. Now all of beacon hills wants him dead. Back to being on the run. It’s not like his home is a safe place to stay anyway.

• He needs help, but the last time he asked for help that didn’t go so well. Scott didn’t give a shit. A building full of people left him for dead in the corridors and no one stopped. He passed out on the road and the only reaction people showed was annoyance at stopping the traffic. Actually, you know who did help? That Stiles kid. He’s probably Derek’s best bet if he needs a safe place to crash.

• Stiles has a lead - he can hear them talking about it. That other guy doesn’t want to help. Apparently Stiles is the king of brilliant ideas, and an improvised strip tease is exactly what it takes for that Danny guy to help them. (Again, what did Derek learn? Seduction is power.)

• Things are not looking good. Their one lead seems to point to... Scott’s mother? They need to think about this.

• If the hunters didn’t kill Laura... then the alpha did. An alpha more powerful than Laura? Derek doesn’t want to let the hope bloom in his chest, but maybe another one from his family got out? Survived the fire? But then why aren’t they coming for him? Why Scott?

• They need to talk to Peter. Surprisingly, Stiles appears to have a decent sense of priorities and skips his Lacrosse game to help with this.

• Bad news. Peter is the alpha. Uncle Peter. Uncle Peter has recovered?! What?! And now he’s killing people?! He killed Laura?! He attacked him?! Act now, think later. That Stiles kid is in danger, he needs to get him out of harm’s way first.

• After a fight, Derek and Peter have a heart to heart. This is huge. Derek isn’t alone in the world after all. He *does* have family. He wasn’t in control before. He was angry. Derek can understand that. Maybe things can be okay after all... they need to talk to Scott.

• They go to the school, and Peter does something Derek didn’t know was possible. He sticks his claws in Scott’s neck as a way of sharing memories. Well, shit. This reminds Derek of something, but he can’t quite figure out what.

• He feels a bit more powerful now. A bit safer, knowing he’s got someone else on his side. He can go back to the Hale house.

• Scott is at Derek’s house when the hunters attack. This is bad. They’re probably going to take him - he barely got away last time. But he can’t let them get to Scott. He has to protect Scott. So he buys him time. As a last-minute decision, he takes Scott’s phone. Hopefully someone can figure it out. Use it to track him. That Stiles kid is pretty smart. Maybe he can figure it out.

• Derek is held prisoner and tortured by Kate. On his own property. I don’t think I need to go over this - what you see is what you get. Kate shows him off to Allison like he’s some circus animal, and Allison barely reacts with anything but fear. She voices all the guilt and self-loathing and resentment he’s kept to himself for 6 years. He gets physically and emotionally tortured. For days. In his own basement.

• Derek only got caught because he was buying Scott some time to get away. When he hears Scott’s howl he thinks maybe he might have a chance of getting away after all. Except then Scott shows up and refuses to help him out. Derek is seriously freaking out. Kate could be back at any point. They can talk about this later, but he needs to leave NOW.

• Eventually Derek breaks himself out, fuelled by the mix of relief and panic that came with Scott’s appearance. Wait, Scott might actually be saying something important. Now that he’s free he can pay attention. Shit, Scott might be right. Peter didn’t lose control and kill Laura in a moment of confusion. He lured her here. It was premeditated murder. Peter MURDERED his sister.

• Barely does he make it back to the house before Allison and Kate show up to kill him and Scott. Scott won’t listen to him, won’t listen to any of his advice. Kate shoots him. Everyone there leaves him for dead. And this is the sad thing - if Derek did die, right here right now, no one would mourn him. No one would miss him. No one. At all. He’s completely alone.

• By the time he comes to, Stiles and Jackson are on the scene and Peter is being burned alive. Again. It’s a horrible sight, but this time the thought of Peter murdering his only family left alive is worse. Derek wants revenge. Scott asks him to let him do it. But fuck Scott. He’s spent weeks trying to help him, WEEKS, and for what? To die alone in a ditch, with all of Beacon Hills wanting him dead. He wants revenge, yes. But what he needs right now, also, more than anything, is a pack. He needs to not be alone. And so he needs to be the alpha. He kills Peter.

I find it interesting when people say that Derek is intended to be the villain or the antagonist in this season, because to me that really isn't the case. He's more of a red herring than anything. Scott may see him as a threat, but if you actually look at things from his perspective, he actually goes OUT OF HIS WAY to help Scott and Stiles, over and over again, and gets nothing but shit for it.

#teen wolf #derek hale #reposted from my own reddit #teenwolfmusings #scott mccall #stiles stilinski #derek hale pov

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mautadite · 4 years

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may book round up

24 books this month, a pretty good stack. even though i’m working from home i keep expecting work to swamp me and leave me with no reading time but... that hasn’t happened yet? so, good.

silver moon - catherine lundoff ⭐️⭐️⭐️ a paranormal novel about a small town in which certain women who reach the age of menopause find another change happening to their bodies. i.e. they become werewolves. i fucking adored this concept and there was f/f romance, but the execution and the writing was sadly pretty boring.

no-no boy - john okada ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ post-wwii, following a young japanese american man who was just released from prison. called a no-no boy because like all other japanese men at the time, he was asked two questions: will you serve in the armed forces and swear loyalty to the us? he answered no to both questions and was detained. the novel follows him grappling with that decision after the war, looks into his friends, family life, race relations, and what it’s like living in a country that despises you. enjoyed it a lot.

the husband gambit - l.a. witt ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the kind of tropey romance nonsense that i live for. contemporary m/m slow burn fake marriage between a struggling actor, and the son of a famous hollywood producer. there were some meh parts (like, the plotting and the reasoning behind why they had to get fake married was like... are you SURE marriage is the best way to fix this) but i really liked it for the romance and the tropes.

drive your plow over the bones of the dead - olga tocarczuk ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ contemporary polish mystery fiction, following an old woman living in a secluded community in the woods, when poachers and prominent hunters begin turning up dead. really interesting writing and format, and a really excellent protagonist. not sure how much i liked the actual mystery.

the babysitter - jack harbon ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ quick and dirty m/m romance, a literature-loving babysitter falls for the divorced father of the kid he babysits. pretty fun.

zipper mouth - laurie weeks ⭐️⭐️⭐️ contemporary fiction that follows a queer, mentally ill woman as she hurdles through life, unrequited love, jobs, and lots of drugs. i enjoyed the themes when there was a coherent one, but i really didn’t gel with the style. i guess it was trying to be stream of consciousness, which i have read and enjoyed in the past. but this didn’t do it for me. interesting tho, and honestly, i just might not have been the audience for it.

spirits abroad - zen cho ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ a PHENOMENAL collection of stories drawing inspiration from malaysian spirits, culture and folklore. absolutely loved it, fave read of the month for sure. loved the use of language and dialect, and the writing was simple and precise and wonderful. and there were some great f/f stories in here.

a cat, a man and two women - junichiro tanizaki ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the setting: 1920s japan. the characters: lily, a fat tortoiseshell. shozo, her lazy, well-meaning, but ineffectual cat-dad. fukuko, his hot young former mistress, current wife. shinako, his strong-willed, slightly bitter ex-wife. the plot: shinako decides, HEY ACTUALLY FUCK YOU KEEP YOUR HOT WIFE BUT I WANT THE CAT. a great novella about loneliness and comeuppance and marriage. the best part was the cat lol.

the terracotta bride - zen cho ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ really interesting novella about a young dead woman living in chinese hell. she’s married, and her husband has three wives. the first: estranged, conniving, distant. the second: herself, unwilling but resigned. the third: newly arrived, and made out of terracotta. very interesting novella, beautifully written, grim but hopeful, f/f romance on the side.

king and the dragonflies - kacen callender ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ wonderful queer children/YA book about family, grief, racism, coming to know yourself and also accepting yourself. contemporary, but it almost FEELS like a fantasy/magical realism book.

orphan number eight - kim alkemade ⭐️⭐️⭐️ a novel about an orphaned woman coming to terms with experiments done on her as a child, when she encounters the doctor who performed said experiments, dying in a nursing home. the writing in this was pretty so-so, did a lot of head-hopping which is my biggest pet peeve. i liked the concept, but the plot and the follow through were meh. loved that the main character was a lesbian though, and some of the writing was great.

firm hand - nora phoenix ⭐️⭐️ meh... not for me. m/m contemporary romance following a guy recovering from the car crash that killed his best friend, and his best friend’s son. it went some places that i’m just not up for, lol.

meet cute club - jack harbon ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ REALLY adorable m/m romance, following a dorky, earnest romance novel lover, and the new cashier at his favourite book store. they end up trying to revive the main characters struggling book club, and falling in love along the way. very fun and sweet.

mrs. mix up - candice harper ⭐️⭐️ the concept sounded so so cute: an f/f romance about two librarians with similar last names that go to a library convention and the staff mistakenly thinks they’re married and book them into one room. but the writing and chemistry were lacklustre and it was extremely poorly edited. it’s a shame, i could have liked this.

mine - kim hartfield ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ a sexy f/f romance that i liked a LOT, about a young woman who after a traumatic event in her life decides to quit her job and go volunteer on a farm in the middle of nowhere. she ends up falling for her sexy lesbian farmer boss. it got deep in some areas i wasn’t really expecting it to, though it was a tad... idk, preachy? and the conflict at the end was annoying. enjoyed it a bunch tho.

the hobbit - j.r.r. tolkien ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ nth reread! i’ve been listening to this on audiobook around bedtime since like... march, i think, it’s just such a comfort read for me.

the knight and the necromancer 1-3 - a.h. lee ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ a very solidly good fantasy m/m romance series, about a young prince and a necromancer in a war against an invading sorcerer. sorta enemies to lovers? the three books span their relationship and the war, and though it was only a few weeks in time, it didn’t feel insta-lovey at all. liked it a lot.

the fake game - kim hartfield ⭐️⭐️⭐️ contemporary f/f fake dating office romance! pretty cute; didn’t blow me away but i solidly liked most of it.

what the wind knows - amy harbon ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ historical time travel romance centred around the aftermath of the ireland easter rising. i spend so much time reading solidly gay stuff that it’s so weird reading things where the existence of queer ppl isn’t even acknowledged lol. anyway this was pretty good, i liked it mostly for the historical facts and aspects, but the romance was pretty touching too.

the golem of mala lubovnya - kim fielding ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ LOVELY m/m romance in a small jewish community between a newly created golem and a stonemason. lovely writing and atmosphere and characters. i had my nitpicks with the resolution but holy heck i’m so happy with this.

the electric heir - victoria lee ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the second part of a queer YA duo-logy that i started earlier this year, set in a future dystopian magic-riddled US, dealing with abuse and trauma and survivors. extremely difficult to read, almost unenjoyable at times (because god these kids go through so much) but very very good.

first everything - kim hartfield ⭐️⭐️ aha, possibly my last try with this author, though i liked the first book i read by her so much i might read one more! f/f romance between a journalist and a fictional first daughter (who’s also like, a domme, lol). the plot was fine but a lot of the character stuff and the shitty parent stuff really bothered me.

and that was may! for june i’ll... read lots of queer stuff, but i mean i do that every month. i also want to try to read less romance, more thriller and historical and just general contemporary? i feel like i say that all the time, but i’ll try. (though i did just get my first ever advanced reader copy from netgalley and it’s f/f romance, so... exciting!) currently reading the 7 deaths and evelyn hardcastle, a thriller. pretty okay so far.

#book talk #long post

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gabriel4sam · 5 years

Text

The Duros who knew too much

Hunted down by the Separatist, Cad Bane has no other choice than asking help from the last person he wants to see again, the pseudo Rako Hardeen, the Jedi who sent him to jail, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Written for the @clonewarssavedexchange beta by the wonderful @sithsoka, for Sharnlyrical

Separatist or not, whoever had worked on the Wanted: dead or alive poster for Obi-Wan Kenobi was a fan... The swooshing hair, the unmistakable grin, the sparkling eyes, the shoulders that were more suggested by the tunics than hidden… The man on the poster looked more like a holovid actor version of a Jedi than like the warrior monk Cad Bane had had the displeasure of fighting before.

With a smirk, Cad tore the poster off the wall. He was trying to keep a low profile but in this seedy part of the seediest town on the planet, he would have needed to take down the entire block before someone felt concerned.

He had elected an abandoned droid factory as a temporary safe house. Slowly he made his way to it, taking all precautions to make sure he wasn’t followed.

To survive the next weeks, he knew that vigilance, caution, and discretion were of the essence.

The Wanted posters of Kenobi really were all over town, and probably all over the quadrant. The reward offered was simply obscene. The Separatist leaders knew Kenobi was in the sector, far away from the Republic lines, and they had no intention of wasting this chance. Everywhere, idiots who thought they could take down an adult Jedi — and even more, that Jedi, the hand-cutting, survives everything and everyone poster boy of the kriffin’ Jedi Council — were getting ready for the fray and buying stun grenades by entire crates.

Cad entered the building, making sure to trip their silent alarm. He wanted the other user of the safe house to know he was there. It was prudent, since exhaustion could make people a little trigger happy. The other sentient was leaning down on his datapad, probably trying for the n th time to plot their escape from a heavily armed system wanting their two heads. Cad put the two containers of food he had brought back on a hastily cleaned table and couldn’t resist:

“Sweetheart, I’m home and I even brought you a little souvenir,” he said, and he put the Wanted poster with the Negotiator's face on the table just under the other man’s nose.

“You’re far less hilarious than you think,” Obi-Wan Kenobi answered, fixing him with those colourful eyes human had.

It had been a low blow from fate, that had put Cad Bane in the position of travelling with the most wanted man this side of the galaxy, and without the possibility of obtaining the reward!

It had been fate, or perhaps in a tad less bombastic way, it had been Count Dooku. The former Jedi, new Sith, and all-around too smart for his own good man had long ago understood the usefulness of bounty hunters. Far more shrewd than an entire droid army, and most of the time more efficient, bounty hunters could even be discreetly murdered if they were captured. Any connection could, of course, be totally denied after. It was less easy with an entire platoon of murder boots which could have been dancing the cancan with “ We’ve been sent by the Separatists ” painted on giant placards, for how subtle they were.

So, Cad Bane had worked for Dooku. Once. Twice. And again and again. The pay was good; Dooku could be a manipulative bastard in search of galactic domination, or whatever Sith Leaders did in their spare time, but he was a rich manipulative bastard, and a classy one. He always paid on time, and he never went back on the price.

Best kind of employer, in Cad’s opinion.

Until the time Cad had come back too early from a deal Dooku had sent him to, and seen too much.

Too much was perhaps an exaggeration. He had seen the ending of a transmission, half a chin under a dark cloak, and a grin on pale, thin lips.

Oh, that grin. That grin was still haunting Cad. He had seen more charming grimaces on dying men’s lips.

And the voice…. The voice, the dripping malevolence, he was still hearing it whispering in his dreams, which had turned dark.

That day, Cad had escaped Dooku only by luck, and he knew all of the Separatist forces were searching for him, relentlessly if discreetly. If it was official, it would have been admitting he knew too much.

Cad wasn’t an idiot. He knew Dooku and the entire Separatist army was a little too much for him. He needed help, and swiftly. He hadn’t contacted the Republic Judicial Service, a bunch of morons in his opinion, but the Jedi directly, who had immediately sent two of their Masters. It spoke of the Jedi’s desperation in this war, of how difficult things were that they couldn’t find anyone else to send than a Jedi killed ten hours into this mission, and the Negotiator himself; one of the fourth, perhaps fifth most recognizable Jedi!

So, here they were. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been caught on holocamera during the skirmish that had ended the life of his unfortunate colleague, whose name Cad hadn’t bothered to remember, and was now being searched for in every nook of the planet by every idiot with a blaster and a desire for credits. And the infuriating human was still probably Cad’s best chance of surviving. Force users were mortal, like everyone else. Nevertheless, when lightsabers were singing, the best solution was still to find another Force User ready to die defending you because you had important information. Then, it was smart to run into the other direction while the two Force Users replayed the ancient feud of Sith versus Jedi.

All of this was not doing his mood any favours, and the worst thing was that he was pretty sure the Jedi, who had just lost a colleague, was still trying to cheer Bane up!

“Come on,” Obi-Wan sassed, appropriating one of the food containers, “It will be like the Rako Hardeen saga-“

“-an episode of my life I’m trying my damn best to forget-“ Cad grumbled.

“Us against the galaxy, the villain and the Jedi, daring against all odds-“

“-I love how you cast yourself as some sort of antithesis of the villain. This half of the galaxy is sure you ’re the villain, Jedi scum, dog of war of the Republic, etc.…”

“-Dog of the Republic? Hadn’t heard that one. And I’m pretty sure you liked me, when I was supposed to be a villain too!”

“That’s one of the reasons I’m reproaching you, Kenobi!” And Cad, taking his food with him, retreated to another part of the factory, suddenly more furious with the Jedi than about their circumstances.

He had liked Rako Hardeen. He liked people smart enough, strong enough, people he could be sure wouldn’t leave only grief in their wake, once the galaxy offed them.

He had liked Jango, which had been stupid of his part, because at the end, Jango wasn’t smart enough to keep himself from intergalactic conspirators…which may or may not have been exactly the mistake Cad had made too.

He was brooding, remembering how Hardeen had helped him in the Cube, how he had seemed dependable, as much as a bounty hunter could be, how Cad had imagined his days of solo hunts could perhaps stop, when half the wall exploded, half burying him in rumbles.

His ear canals were ringing, his torso almost crushed under the weight, he struggled to get free, even harder once he heard the tell-tale sounds of droids. He had been found, and soon he would join Jango wherever the kriff bounty hunt-….There. The hiss of a lightsaber, and the pale blue light, the only thing visible in the swirls of dust from the explosion. The light danced, never still, and in every loop of its dance, sparks gushed, as the blade passed into the reinforced metal of the droids as if cutting through air.

In a few seconds, it was done. The droids sent to kill them was a pile of junk on the floor, and Kenobi, when he knelt down next to Cad, not even winded.

The rumble floated away and Kenobi helped him sit down. Cad bit down a cry. Something was broken in his torso. Kenobi examined lightly the area despite Cad’s protests that Kenobi could buy him dinner first, thank you very much.

“Your furcula is broken.”

“My what?”

“How can you…not important. Let me…”

“Hands off, eh, Kenobi. I’m gonna bite you, and my saliva is sure toxic to you…”

“Of course, it isn’t. Stop wriggling about, I’m trying to…I didn’t think you would be so prudish, stop moving, you blue idiot.”

Struggling along, the two fugitives took off, Cad resting against Kenobi, less because he couldn’t walk, nothing was wrong with his legs, but because every time they were in contact, the pain went down.

“Are you using Jedi tricks on me?”

“If I was, you would shut up,” Kenobi remarked, hurrying them from discreet corners of the street to the service entrance of the nearest cantina.

“Too close from the attack,” Cad protested, as Kenobi was hauling him higher into the building, mind tricking everyone they saw, until the door of a poorly lit room closed behind them.

“They won’t search this close, because they will think we will run as fast, as far as we can from the droid factory,” Kenobi finally answered.

“Yeah, because we should .”

“Not with you in this state. The gravity of his planet must already be hard enough on your body, I fear without that bone your thoracic cage will collapse.”

Cad grimaced and sat down heavily.

“You didn’t even know what that bone was,” Kenobi remarked.

“My education was more blasters than anatomy. Even my own. Do you think street urchin…” He stopped. What was he thinking, starting to blather like that about his past?

Kenobi knelt down in front of him and ordered:

“Give me your hands.”

“Human are gross and you’re not my type,” Cad huffed in annoyance.

“You stared at Hardeen’s behind too much for me to entirely believe you. Your hands, Bane. It will be much easier.”

“You are going to a lot of trouble for a bounty hunter who saw, perhaps, half the face of that thrice-damned Sith Lord.”

“It’s still a lot more than the lot of us saw, every piece of information is important…and even if it wasn’t, what sort of Jedi would be, if I let you suffer when I can help.”

“A smarter one.”

Kenobi laughed, and not the small huff Cad’s words warranted. A full bodied laugh, perhaps a tad hysterical, and for the first time, Cad paid more attention to the obvious signs of exhaustion of the other sentient. He asked himself how it would feel, all the death happening in the galaxy during this war, for a man who could touch unknown power, who could feel the fabric of life.

He gave his hands to Kenobi, clinging to them like an anchor when a great wave of power passed into him, fading between his eyelids in a shower of multi-coloured sparks. It was like being drunk on light, it was a high like no other, it was tasting power itself and when it stopped, the pain was gone.

Cad came crashing down on Kenobi, on Obi-Wan, like a tree would go down, like a ship with dead motors, and they rolled on the floor, the powerful connection shared for a minute intoxicating them. Human lips were warm and agile, and if the taste of his tongue seemed foreign to Cad, it was something exotic, like a fruit from a long lost planet, delicious and tasty. Cad bit down that mouth until the lips were red and shiny, and Kenobi was making the most interesting sounds, until the last whisper of power died down, leaving them struggling for breath on the floor, and putting them in a quite awkward situation.

“Do all Jedi healing has those interesting effects?” the bounty hunter asked, helping the human up.

“No,” Kenobi answered, his tone strange, and his face flushed, but Cad couldn’t have remembered what it meant when human’s faces were red if his life depended on him.

They sat down on the bed, carefully not looking at each other.

“We will just stay here a few hours,” Kenobi said, “then I suggest we steal a ship.”

“This is getting exactly like the Hardeen fiasco,” Cad remarked, “ and the last time ended with me on a fast track to jail.”

“Except this time, we’re on the same team. We made a great one when I was there to spy on you, so imagine how we’ll do now.”

“Hmpf.”

A moment of silence.

“I liked Hardeen,” Cad admitted, because he needed something, anything to avoid feeling indebted to Kenobi for the healing, and that confession, that small fact he had kept for him all those months after the betrayal, seemed like something difficult to admit, something precious.

“I know,” Kenobi simply said, “and the sad part was that he…I….Hardeen liked working with you. Fleeing with you. It was…freeing. Good. Something without rules and responsibilities, something…” He clamped down on the next words and they stayed there, wishing the time to go faster.

A few hours to wait, a few days on the run, probably, before finding back the safety of Republic lines.

And whatever would happen during those days, they would be the only ones to ever know.

Cad licked his lips, where Kenobi’s taste lingered. He suddenly felt much better about all of this.

#cad bane #obi wan kenobi #star wars #the clone wars #my fics

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zer0pm · 5 years

Text

No Name (10/?)

A/N: Your usual friendly reminder that you can find the complete series on my Ao3. Just simply click on any of the hyperlinks on my profile bio and it’ll take you to my works ^^ Thanks again for reading! This is a long one.

Pairing: V x Fem!Reader

You were walking the streets of Redgrave City. Honestly, as beautiful as the city looked, the downtown area left nothing to be admired. It was especially so for the building you stood before. It looked worn down and ready to collapse. In fact, it judging my past work you have spotted, it already has...quite a few times.

You: “This is the office of the legendary devil hunter?”

Frankly, you were not impressed but at the moment, you were desperate. Gulping down your pride, you pushed yourself through the doubleset doors. The inside was even worse than the outside. The office was a complete mess, cigarette butts, torn and worn out paper, along with what you can tell to be pizza boxes littered the place. The place was poorly lit and it was so unbearably stuff, you were finding it difficult to get a good breath of air the longer you stood inside.

???: “Sorry, office is closed. Come around whenever I feel like opening it back up again.”

A voice pulls from your growing disgust for the office long enough to direct your attention to a man seated behind a large, wooden table at the far end across from you. He had white hair, something you have not seen amongst the local folk at all since you’ve been here, and wore a red leather coat. He had his head down, not facing you at all, hunching over and eyes cast down beneath him. His arms would fidget which made you assume he was fiddling with something down there. How rude.

You: “You speak to all of your customers like this?”

He looks up, eyes widening slightly at the sight of you. You can feel his gaze slowly take in your form appreciatively, his eyes raking up and down and up again until he met your eyes. He leans back into his seat and offers you a charming smile.

Dante: “Not unless they look like you. Welcome to Devil May Cry.”

As he sat back up, his hands finally lifted from behind the desk. One ruffled back his hair although the long locks fell to sweep to the side of his blue eyes and the other set down upon the wood a rubik’s cube. He was playing with a toy this entire time!?

With a roll of your eyes and a slight tinge on your cheeks, you explain to Dante the job in hand. The entire time you spoke, the legendary devil hunter not once took his eyes off of you.

Dante: “So, got a name to match that pretty face?”

You tell him and he tests your name on his tongue. You could have been imagining it but it felt like he was savoring the taste of your name and it stirred you uncomfortably. You were warned ahead of time that the legendary devil hunter can be rather...forward.

You: “For a son of Sparda, you’re not quite what I expected.”

For a moment, you thought his smile falter slightly at the mention of his father, but it was fleeting and the ends of his lips tug upwards in a smolder.

Dante: “And you don’t look like the kind of gal with demon problems. Which I assume is what you’re here for.”

You: “It’s...not a demon problem, per se. Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re somehow in the mix. I have a sister-”

Dante: “Does she look like you?”

You glared at him.

You: “She went missing three days ago and was last spotted in this city. I need your help to find her and bring her back home.”

The man leaned further back in his chair to lift his feet and stack them atop the desk, his arms crossed and his expression suggesting that he was positively unimpressed.

Dante: “Sounds like a job for the cops.”

You: “Normally, I would agree but being a nephilim attracts all sorts of unwanted attention. Normal humans won’t be able to handle what I...we will be dealing with.”

His brows furrow to a harsh line, his crystal blue eyes lit up with curiosity.

Dante: “The hell is a nephilim?”

GASP!

Your eyes open, your heart pounding in your chest. You were laying on something soft and familiar. Your bed. As your eyes adjust and your breathing steadies, you sit up and feel your sheets pool down to your lap. Your room. How did you get here? The last thing you remembered was entering the Qliphoth with Dante and the others.

Dante...

The sound of you door clicking open made you lift your head from your thoughts.

You: “Dante?”

The door stops in its swing, a moment passes and it gives way completely. The one who stood there was not Dante. It was V. He was not wearing his coat, instead garnering a black shirt and sweats, very similar to the clothes you gave him when you first took him in. He had an unreadable expression on his face.

You: “V... I’m sorry, I thought you were-”

V: “It’s alright. He was technically the last person you saw before you were knocked out, afterall.”

The man lets himself into your room, in his hands was a tray with a plate of food and a glass of juice on the side. He slowly makes his way to your bed and carefully sets the tray by your side.

V: “Eat. You must be famished.”

Right as he said this, your stomach grumbles loudly. A blush reddens your cheeks in embarrassment and your hands quickly moved to grab the utensils and dig into the warm food made for you. The taste was delicious and you found yourself digging in faster than normal. He was right, guess you were famished. V watches you devour the meal he prepared ravenously, a hint of a smile on his face at your appetite. The moment felt rather uplifting in a way, but he knew what was to come next. As you finally began to slow down, gulping down a bite, you looked at him.

You: “V, what happened?”

The man sighs, his head bowing down slightly at the ground as he took a seat on the bed. His back was facing you. None of these were good signs.

V: “After we were defeated by Urizen...”

Urizen? Was that the demon lord’s name? You could have sworn it was something else. Struggle as you could to remember what it was though, it was all hazy. You can only really recall the battle, Dante, and pain of all sorts coursing through you that night.

V: “The demon lord made his next move. He commanded the Qliphoth to spread its routes throughout the city. These demonic roots then began to drain the blood of the human citizens as is its purpose. Many lives were lost that night and the numbers grow each day. You have been unconscious the entire time since then. A piece of the tree fell hard on your head. I am sorry, I wasn’t fast enough to stop that.”

Oh, god.

You: “H-How long have I been out?”

V: “...About three days.”

You: “Three days?!”

You were absolutely shocked. That was simply way too long. You dreaded at the thought of what the city and the people have suffered while you were out, how much was lost. Judging by what V said, it seems like things have gotten worse since you were last awake but a nagging question etches to the front of your thoughts.

You: “Where’s Dante? What happened to him? Trish? Lady? There was another guy too, right?”

V: “The boy Nero is fine. He is currently helping the remaining survivors to a safe haven.“

Survivors. Remaining. These words made you feel sick to your stomach and it only worsened when V turned slightly to glance at you over his shoulder. He seemed to be struggling to speak about this and casted his gaze down from your eyes once more.

V: “I don’t know what happened to the others. But... I believe that none of them live.”

That made your heart drop.

You: “W-What makes you say that? Did you try looking for them?”

The man nods carefully before stretching his hand out to give a full display of tattoos that adorn his arm.

V: “My power is not limited to solely summoning and commanding the demons I made contracts with. I can also detect demonic presences, Dante, although only half, amongst them. I cannot account for Lady’s fate, but given that I have had no luck searching for Dante or Trish, it would only suggest that they-”

You: “Stop. Just stop, please.”

You couldn’t hear more, your plea so soft and defeated. You didn’t dare look at V, not after what he just said. There was virtually no hope. No hope of the others...of Dante...

“I’m sorry.”

Those were the last words he said to you and with it a great weight that rests painfully on your heart. It spoke volumes. It showed his regret of what happened between you two. Of the loss of your sister and his involvement. And it broke you...it broke you because those were the exact same words that you were going to tell him. Of how you treated him. Of how you never truly blamed him for what happened. But now, you’ll never get that chance. Even now as you hear those words again, not from Dante’s lips or your own, but from V himself. The man who sat beside you now. He turned himself completely to face you, a deep frown on his face that reflected his condolences of your loss. It was all coming down on you now and you did nothing to hide the tears that fell down your face.

Your body wracked and your voice choked into sobs, eyes completely shut from the pain. You now know why you dreamt that memory of your first time meeting Dante. Your mind was trying to turn back the clock, to bring you back to where it all started for you, creating a false hope that if you somehow woke up there, things could be different. But it cannot be. It was only a dream. This right now is real. You weren’t asleep. And the man you once called your friend was gone. And you couldn’t save him. As you cried, you felt arms wrap around your body to carefully pull you closer towards warmth in attempts to soothe your sorrows.

V was holding you, so gently too, but you were too far gone in your grief to notice and instead you instinctually sink closer in his embrace. V himself felt out of his element as he held you in his arms. He remembers the feeling of loss and mourning all too well, but knew nothing of how to cope with it. Back then, he had no one to comfort him. Yet somehow, he felt compelled to comfort you, perhaps if not to have you suffer the same loneliness he was forced to bare with. At the thought, he rubs your back with one hand, and pulls you closer with the other. V felt your body relax slightly to his touch and it was then did he make his decision.

V: “When I from black and she from white cloud free, I’ll shade her from the heat till she can bear...”

He was reciting to you, smoothly and softly. The deepness of his voice lulling the anguish that continuously drowned your heart in grief. Yet ever slowly, V was pulling you up. Eventually your breathing steadied and you fell asleep in his arms. V continued to speak to you and hold you like this for a while longer until he then set you back down on your bed, lifting the sheets to tuck you in before leaving your side. The man took one more look at you, at the peace on your face. He dreads that this will be the only time you will ever feel this calmness and resolved to stay by your side and help you through these difficult times. For now. V closes the door, you name pasts his lips even though he knew you could not hear him.

V: “I’m sorry.”

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shirtlesssammy · 5 years

Text

14x18: Absence

Then:

This show is toying with our lives, all for the sake of narrative symmetry.

Now:

Sam and Dean are back at the bunker with no Mary or Jack in sight. One beer and some ironic praising of Jack later, Dean tries calling Mary, only to find her cell ringing from another room. “Try Jack,” Sam suggests.

Several calls to everyone else that will probably be dead by the end of this show (I’m in a dark place right now, guys) later, their one lead is with Rowena. She has a spell that might track Jack and Mary. Cas calls Dean back and confesses his concerns about Mary being alone with Jack. He’s concerned that Jack isn’t ok, and then tells Dean about Jack mercy killing Felix. Dean’s already in hyper-freaked out mode so he doesn’t take Cas’s revelation too well. And by that I mean he hangs up on Cas. Good job, Dean, dealing with your emotions like an adult human.

Anyway, they need to find Jack, asap. Sam brainstorms the idea of tracking Jack’s cell phone. They quickly realize that he’s flying all over the world.

Jack eventually ends up back at the cabin, his battery almost dead.

He flashes back to memories of his time with Mary. The flashbacks are all in black and white and there’s just a brief flash of yellow/orange between them and present day (v. cool.) While Jack remembers Mary, he’s visited by his very own Hallucifer. UGH. Although, while I didn’t put it together on the first watch, I feel like watching Jack being tormented by his devil father shows that Jack’s soul is not gone. He is in complete anguish about Mary throughout this episode --not something someone without a soul feels. Anyway, the dark part of Jack’s mind tells him to accept what he did. Jack insists that it was an accident, but the devil on his metaphorical shoulder tells him to tell Sam and Dean that --see how far that gets him.

He plays with Jack’s emotions to the point that Jack blasts him away. Oh, Jack.

Meanwhile, Sam and Dean are on their way to the cabin. Cas is going to meet them there. Sam tries to reason away Jack killing Felix. “Really, with the snake?” OH MY GOD. I feel like Dean has TOO MANY emotions and they’ve all bottlenecked and can’t get out so he’s gone into angry reactive mode and I do. Not. Like.

Once at the cabin, Sam finds the burnt corpse of Nick, and Dean, well, Dean finds a barren blast site of ash and nothing.

We cut to Cas, alone in his truck, flashing back to a memory of Mary and him soon after she came back. They were hunting together (despite the brothers believing she needed space to process her new world order). Ah, it’s quite a touching moment between the two of them and I’m getting sadder the more I watch.

For Sadness Science:

Especially this exchange:

Cas: I know you know this, Mary, but Sam and Dean, they’re glad to have you back. Whatever you still have to deal with and however long it takes, you should know they’re happy. Finally they don’t have to be so… so alone.

Mary: Castiel, they were never alone.

Mary’s words echo in Cas’s mind as he leaves his car to meet up with Sam and Dean. Once in the cabin, he finds Sam and Dean (who turns his back on him! Gah) and the charred remains of Nick. Dean insistes that they don’t know what happened, but if Jack did something to Mary --he looks at Cas and utters the words that will forever scar my heart: “Then you’re dead to me.” Cas takes Dean’s anger stoically, while Sam tries to reason with him. I mean, clearly, Dean’s anger isn’t at Cas, it’s at himself, at the circumstances, at the possible thought that he’s lost his mother AGAIN. (although this post by @tinkdw rings true and fits the lack of communication issues these two have had for some time now.)

Anyway, Cas gives his speech about Jack and his faith in him--and he’s using past tense!-- and I’m not ok. When Cas’s voice breaks at “We were a family and I didn’t want to lose that.”??? Bury me in a ma’lak box in the sea, guys.

Rowena calls. It’s nice to see that as Dean and Cas are breaking up, Sam and Rowena still are able to communicate. <3 <3 <3 Rowena can’t get a handle on Jack. “And Mom?” Sam wonders. “I don’t know what happened, or where she is, but I can tell you with certainty, Mary Winchester is no longer on this earth.” Fuuuuuuuuuuuucccccckkkkkkk. Cue Dean breaking a chair in 3-2-1…

Sam wants to know what they should do. “We fight. We fight to bring them back.” Dean wants Rowena to resurrect her. (Listen, I’ve read Pet Semetary...uh.) He barks at Cas to go to heaven and locate Mary. Sam and Dean are heading to Rowena’s place.

We cut to Rowena working her magic, and folks, she is a sight.

There’s a knock at her door, and it’s Jack! Rowena offers to call Sam and Dean and Jack instantly shuts that down. He admits that he killed Mary and it was an accident. He needs Rowena’s help to undo it. Jack asks about a spell from the Book of the Damned. Rowena starts talking about one (and she looks ever so briefly at the door when she’s telling her story...LOVE that subtle bit of acting!!) The Necromantiorum spell requires simple ingredients and great power. There’s another knock on her door. Sam and Dean have arrived. Jack whisks her away to the bunker in a flash.

Cas walks through the playground at Heaven’s gateway, calling for an angel. Nothing but the wind answers him…

Meanwhile, Jack has flapped Rowena to the bunker to get ingredients. He sees marks on the floor and has a flashback about Mary. In it, she teaches Jack how to throw a knife. It goes poorly, but she is super supportive anyway. She even helps hide the damage to the floor. Mary Winchester, you are an A+ person! Sam approaches. He’s exhausted from the search for Michael-possessed Dean.

Mary tells Sam that she understands the parental guilt that Sam is feeling for not being there for Jack. She tells Sam that he’s amazing, brave and kind. I’m just gonna…cry in a corner for a while.

In the present day, Dean continues flipping out at Sam while he paces Rowena’s lushly decorated apartment. He circles back to Cas’s culpability, but Sam tells him that they both knew Jack was dangerous. Sam brings up the fact that he made the decision to use the soul magic to bring Jack back, unasked for by Jack. Sam admits that he peaced out on the bunker after Michael killed all the AU hunters, leaving the burden of parenting to Cas. Dean reluctantly admits that he’d let his guard down as well, ignoring Donatello’s warning about Jack.

Jack paces the bunker, looking a wee bit worse for the wear. Rowena tries to connect with him, but Lucifer butts in. He needles Jack about his plan to bring Mary back, painting it as a desperate ploy to get in good with the Winchesters again. Rowena gets to hear one side of the conversation and stays remarkably composed. It’s like a terribly uncomfortable cooking show.

Lucifer tells Jack that he’s just imagining the guilt and pain, as a soulless person. But COME ON, Jack is clearly suffering. This is more than self-preservation.

Rowena finishes collecting spell ingredients and asks for the last item: Mary’s body.

Um. Houston, we have a problem. Ashes apparently don’t count.

Sometime later, Cas stands in front of the sandbox. Just an ordinary, trench-coated dude hanging out alone in a playground. He tells Naomi that he won’t leave until he gets to talk to her. The portal ignites. Hey! Good job, Cas!

Dumah appears, gives Cas some extreme passive-aggressive sass, and asks him if he’s there for Mary Winchester. Um. Maaaaaaybe?

Cas tells her that he wants to bring Mary back, “Because she’s gone!” Hey. I’ll just be over here clutching a blanket around my shoulders to protect myself from all this grief everywhere. Dumah tells Cas that Mary is in a “special heaven” and has achieved peace, at last. We find all of this terribly unsettling, like the plot of this episode is a shark swimming around telling everyone that it’s a dolphin with sort of a wonky fin and just don’t look under the surface. Would you like to pet the strange dolphin? WOULD YOU?

Ha ha. Eh, sorry. Went a little off topic there.

Anyway. Back with Rowena and Jack, he flies her to the cabin and shows her the burn site. Rowena tells him that the spell won’t work without a body and the obliterated ash field is not enough. Jack decides he’s going to do the work himself, which Rowena thinks is a terrible idea. “A cardinal rule of magic,” Rowena cautions. “Disposition affects execution. And you are spinning. Whatever you bring back, it won’t be her.” Rowena refuses to help his mad scheme, compassion thick in her tone, and Jack tosses her all the way back to her apartment.

Rowena stands up, utterly pissed off, and calls Sam. She tells them what Jack is up to. “He’s desperate, confused, angry…” (Hmmm all emotions, you might say.)

She tells them that Jack may bring something terrible back with his attempted spell.

Cut to Jack who is attempting the spell. Oh man. He does the ritual and the skies open up in a heaving vortex of purple-black clouds.

While the spell works, Sam and Dean approach in the Impala. Jack cuts off Baby’s engine (oh NO HE DIDN’T) and finishes the spell.

Dean and Sam race on foot to stop Jack, but it’s too late. He greets them with, “It didn’t work.”

He flaps away and Dean races forward to something lying on the ground. It’s Mary Winchester….’s body. There’s no trace of life. Dean holds his mother’s body and flashes back to driving in the car with her late at night, headed towards or away from a case. She’s asleep on his shoulder and he looks down at her and just…

If you need me, I’ll be searching the nearby forest for my broken heart.

Jack holes up in some gross warehouse while Lucifer cozies up to him. Lucifer tells Jack that because of his failure to resurrect Mary, nobody will take him back into their lives. TFW won’t trust him anymore, so Jack can never trust them. Ugh, Lucifer, you’re the worst. (Man, I really look forward to the day when I won’t feel the need to type that anymore.)

At the bunker, Sam goes through old photos of Mary when Cas walks in. He tells Sam that Mary is in Heaven. “She’s at peace,” Cas says. Dean rather aggressively asks if Cas is just gonna take Dumah’s word on it, but Cas reports that Dumah took him upstairs and let him see Mary’s door. He opened it, and watched from the doorway as Mary lived in it. “She’s with John and there’s no sorrow. No guilt. Just joy.”

Sam tells them all that Rowena thinks Jack just brought back an empty body. A replica, “incapable of holding life.” Ouch.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Sam asks, sounding lost.

“What we always do,” Dean says. Fight, right? Let’s FIGHT someone! Oh wait, no. What they “always do” is burn the bodies of their loved ones while clenching their jaws stoically.

We get a slideshow montage of Mary moments. MARRRYYYYY! ;__: (Boris: okay if they throw a new photo on the pyre every time someone dies, they’re gonna eventually run out of photos.) Cas tries to approach Dean in comfort but Sam holds him back and shakes his head as if to say, not now. The camera wheels away like a circling hawk, leaving the three of them alone at a crossroads. [Pun completely intended.]

Ceci N'est Pas Une Quote!

I don’t think Jack is well, Dean.

Who cares? It’s a snake!

I could heal you if you’ll let me.

It wasn’t bad. It was the absence of good, and I saw that in him.

I don’t know what happened, or where she is. But I can tell you with certainty Mary Winchester is no longer on this Earth.

Kids - they always surprise you.

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn spoilers #spn recap #spn 14x18 #absence #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #mary winchester #jack kline #rowena macleod #dumah #supernatural season 14

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buttsonthebeach · 5 years

Text

Life Itself

I had the pleasure of writing about Darva Lavellan and Dorian for @goblin-deity - thank you for trusting me with such a moving moment in their lives, friend!

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions (Slots currently CLOSED as of 8/7/19 - but check out my giveaway!)

Pairing: Darva Lavellan x Dorian Pavus

Rating: Teen for mature themes. Trigger warning for terminal illness similar to cancer, and death of a parent.

*******************************

If Darva Lavellan had been feeling poorly lately, that was to be expected. Weight of the world on his shoulders and magic hand eating him up, and all that. Who wouldn’t be feeling a little poorly? Plus there were the nonstop treks back and forth and back and forth across Thedas. That was the only reason he was feeling unwell.

It was only when the ache set well and truly into his bones - when all of his joints hurt - when he felt the swelling at the points of his jaw, that tender spot, the gland that the clan’s healers said had to do with your body’s ability to fight infection - that he knew it was something more.

It was then that he thought at once of his father. Ahgie Lavellan. His safe haven throughout all his childhood. The parent he could trust and turn to, who did not wear his fear like a badge on his sleeve the way his mother did. Ahgie Lavellan, strong and brave, who died at the hands of an Orlesian hunting party when Darva was fourteen. Ahgie Lavellan who, before that, did not fear the blades of vengeful humans, but instead the sickness growing in his own bones.

“You’re going to stop being sick though, right? Someday?” Darva had asked him when his father told him why he was tired, why he was in pain, why he had to keep going to the healers.

“I will,” Ahgie said. “But I don’t think it will be because I get better, da’mynatha’la. I think it will be the opposite.”

Darva still felt a shiver of sadness, an ache, whenever he thought of his father’s nickname for him. My little moon.

He’d died only a few months later. The sickness never got the chance to eat him up. But now, sixteen years later, looking in the mirror and seeing a face that looked more and more like his father’s every day, Darva knew what was wrong.

He went to the healers to confirm it. A wasting illness, one that crept into your blood and your bones, resulted in hard knobs of swollen tissue within your body. A death sentence.

“I need your utmost discretion with this,” he told them at once.

His mind was already thinking of the currency he dealt in frequently now: secrets. Of how the Inquisition’s enemies would react if they knew. The Inquisitor was not only a Dalish elf whose greatest qualification for his office was a magic glowing hand, whose greatest protection was a pair of daggers that he wielded with particular style and lethality, but a man whose own body was in revolt, who was dying?

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

He would tell Leliana to monitor the correspondence of the healers nonetheless - without telling her why. She might start to work out her own reasons, but he trusted her entirely. Whatever she did work out, she would keep to herself.

He felt oddly calm about it all. So he was sick. There was also an ancient would-be god who had it out for him, so in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t that big of a deal. He just had to stay well long enough to fix this mess. Then he could fall apart. Hadn’t that been the plan all along? Hadn’t he been running from one disaster to another ever since he took his vallaslin and left his clan? This was just the next disaster. Nice to have a bit of a head’s up, really.

He’d keep it secret until absolutely necessary to do otherwise. That was the logical, responsible thing to do. Pretend it wasn’t happening.

He’d almost convinced himself of that until he was standing in the great hall of Skyhold, and he saw Dorian across the way. He was just leaving the rotunda, Vivienne at his side. The two of them were talking animatedly. Dorian was gesturing wildly with his hands, as he was wont to do when he got worked up about something. Darva froze, sticking close to the shadows of the door he had just exited, watching the two of them go. Watching Dorian go. His broad shoulders and his sharp, handsome face. Darva’s heart beat faster at the sight of that man - every single time - and things were serious between them now.

And just like that, the illness - this next disaster - was suddenly, vastly, unfair.

He’d come all this way - endured all of the shit life had thrown at him - nearly drowning in that river when he was young, his mother’s controlling paranoia, losing his father, his mother’s anger and grief then, how they were directed at him - drifting from place to place, finally returning home, only to leave for the Conclave and land in this nightmare - he’d endured all of that, found a man who shone a bright light into every one of those dark corners - was just starting to imagine a world where he could be happy, could have a home -

And now this.

Fuck.

He let Dorian and Vivienne leave the great hall without calling out to them. He stayed there in the shadows, so full of anger, of fear, that he could not move.

Darva went up to his quarters after that. He even had them bring his dinner up to him. He picked at it for a while. Then he laid out his collection of daggers and began polishing and inspecting them. It was good to do that. It was something small that he could control. And besides - they were bright, dangerous and strong. Qualities he would need in the time to come.

Dorian didn’t come looking for him, which was unusual, but his lover also knew that Darva was a man who occasionally needed his space. Who had been a solitary, watchful child, living isolated in a world-within-a-world, for many years. Darva missed him immediately, and soon that feeling bled over into a kind of self-pity that pinned him to the bed.

It wasn’t fair. His own body risen up in revolt against him, at a time when everyone needed and needed and needed things from him - expected and expected and expected things - when he was already barely qualified as it was -

How had his father done it? A hunter, a family man, a husband - how had he still gotten up every day and smiled, gone about what he needed to do? He could never ask him, could he? Like so many other things, he was going to have to figure this one out alone.

Or maybe it wouldn’t be alone. There was Dorian. Dorian with his agile mind, his voracious appetite for reading, his kindness. His knowledge of what it was like to live a life alone, a life apart. Dorian understood him in a way no one else did. He could rely on Dorian.

Then, tossing and turning in his bed, he thought of his mother. She had not been an asset to her husband or her son, in the end. Not with the way fear and grief twisted her up inside, as real and as violent as any illness. Not with the way they came spilling out of her mouth in accusation after accusation. Dorian was not like that. But there was no denying that there was a burden here. Something Darva himself could bear. He was sure of that. So that was his final decision, late that night. That he would bear this alone in the deep darkness of his mind, in the deep darkness of each night to come - however many of those he had left.

They were preparing to head out to Crestwood soon. There was that absolutely lovely, charming lake full of undead that needed dealing with, and then there would be a holiday in a lovely nearby castle that was also overrun with bandits.

“Seeing as how we are about to enjoy such luxuries,” Dorian said to him that next day. “How about we slum it for a bit? Spend some time just the two of us really roughing it, so we can properly appreciate the weeks to come.”

Darva was already smiling, already opening up from the inside out - a sweet feeling, a rush like when you knew you had the perfect hand of cards in Wicked Grace.

“Would a private dinner in one of the spare rooms suit your definition of roughing it? Perhaps some candles and wine to really seal the deal?”

Dorian sauntered closer, leaning against the wall, smiling, his chin tilted up. All confidence and ease and sultry enough to grab anyone’s attention.

“Dinner in a drafty tower with terrible company? My, my, Inquisitor. You do know how to spoil a man.”

Darva wanted to kiss him right then. But he just mirrored his posture instead.

“Well, tonight isn’t about spoiling anyone, is it? It’s about roughing it. Or have you lost track of your own joke?”

“I never lose track of anything that matters.”

It was true. Dorian played the dilettante but he had the focus of a bloodhound, a mind to exceed any of the scholars in the Inquisition’s employ. How Darva had ever caught his eye - had ever held it - was sometimes beyond him.

Dorian would turn that focus to his illness, if Darva let him in. The sickness would consume Darva’s body but it would consume Dorian’s mind. He was more sure than ever of the decision he’d made not to tell him.

“Darva?”

Dorian’s tone had shifted and so had his posture. Gone was the flirtatious smile, the cocked hip, the raised chin. Shit.

“My apologies. Just trying to dream up a menu that will suit your very particular tastes, Serah Pavus.” Darva took Dorian’s hand, raised it to his lips, brushed a kiss across the knuckles. Light and polite and perfect as you please, just the way Josephine had taught him.

“I see. I expect to be impressed then, amatus.”

Amatus.

That word sat heavy and new on Darva’s mind the rest of that day. Beloved. It was a word full of promise and meaning and if Darva had had doubts about living up to it before - and he had - they were doubled now. Whether he died at the hands of one of the Venatori or some goddamn dragon or Corypheus himself or because of his own failing body, he was going to die. Sooner than he should.

So maybe he ought to tell Dorian - let him get out now, before that word amatus acquired more and more and more meaning, more memories.

But Darva still went to the kitchens and asked for roast duck in a pan sauce, figs, their best red wine, fresh bread, and baked vegetables. Because his mind inevitably circled back to all the things about Dorian that he could not bear to lose - his biting humor, yes, his wit, his charm - but also the things that lay beneath all of that. The bruises they shared in common. The loneliness - the disappointed parents - the years of not fitting in, and the armor they’d built up to resist that. And the tenderness that they had now, finally, found with one another.

He couldn’t lose that. Not now. He was selfish that way.

Dorian met him in one of the spare rooms they’d redone to house visiting dignitaries. It had rich green curtains that Darva himself had chosen out of an array of swatches that Josephine presented him with. They were shot through with gold thread, and it made him think of the light on the trees in the forests where he’d grown up. All of the furniture in the room was made of a highly polished red wood that he couldn’t recall the name of now - something imported all the way from Seheron, if he remembered right. The sort of thing he might once have seen getting unloaded off of a pirate ship in Llomeryn.

The candles he’d chosen were simple, unscented. He knew Dorian would likely have chosen his own scent to wear at the pulsepoint of his neck and on each of his wrists, and he wanted to be able to smell that instead. To drink in every aspect of his lover. All joking aside, he might have almost preferred that they didn’t meet in such a rareified space, with its tapestries and stained glass window and fine furniture. The better to focus entirely on one another. It was the longing for a simpler life that had drawn Darva back to his clan, after all - and without that longing he would never have ended up at the Conclave. Would never have ended up here.

“Does this suit your tastes?” he asked Dorian with a sweeping gesture of his arm as he welcomed him in. Dorian tapped a finger against his chin, as if truly considering.

“Passable enough, I suppose. For the South. And anything is better than the muck you’re dragging me too.”

“Well, it isn’t the Fallow Mire this time.”

“You mean to tell me that Ferelden isn’t comprised entirely of muck? What a fascinating theory.”

Darva laughed. He hadn’t laughed since he got the news, he realized abruptly, and that meant he was laughing a little harder than he should have been, as if his body was giddy at the sudden release. It was like what used to happen when he would escape out from under his mother’s thumb and go to see his friends, how the first laugh that burst out of him would be too loud, too nervous. Too relieved.

Dorian had noticed, of course. His gold-brown eyes were narrowed slightly. But he was quick to smile.

“I am pleased I can be such a source of amusement for you. Shall we sit?”

Dorian continued to do his best to be a source of amusement as they ate the roasted duck and vegetables (which he pronounced passable as well) and the figs (which he couldn’t even make jokes about, being too busy actually moaning over how sweet they were). His hand was also never far from Darva. Sometimes it was on his knee beneath the table, sometimes on his wrist. Sometimes he traced idle patterns on the back of Darva’s hand, or on the palm. Sometimes he just laced their fingertips. When the food was gone, Dorian did that one more time.

“Hello,” he said, quietly, and just like that, Darva landed fully in the moment. There was no banter, no thought for past or future. Just the two of them, sitting in the candlelight, bodies warm with wine, palms touching. Darva tugged Dorian’s hand closer and kissed the back of it.

“Hello.”

“How have you been?” Dorian went on. This was how it was with them. Dancing for a while, working past the layers of scars, until they were vulnerable to one another. Until they could really talk.

But Darva couldn’t really talk about the thing most on his mind, could he? The fact that he ached all over, that he was exhausted. That it would only get worse from here, and there was no telling how fast or how slow that would happen. His father had known about his own illness for a good six months before it became noticeably worse, and even then the healers thought he might have another year left from that point.

“Same old,” Darva said. “Weight of the world and all that. Must be the middle of the week.”

The answer was too flippant. Dorian recognized the tone for what it was. A defense. A scar.

“I know that there is only so much I can do about that weight - but you know that I will take any part of it I can from you, right?”

There was a lump in Darva’s throat that he desperately wished would vanish. It was a childish lump. A needy one. Not the reaction of a grown man in charge of one of the largest military forces in Thedas, who had a magic in his hand that could heal the sky.

“I do. Maybe you should just buy me a new dagger instead. I’d love one with a handle inlaid with mother-of-pearl, you know.”

His own instinctive sarcasm betrayed him again. Dorian only looked more concerned.

“A dagger. Yes. If that’s what you need from me.”

Shit.

Darva held out his other hand - the marked one - for Dorian’s. Dorian accepted the gesture, brow still furrowed.

“I’m being an idiot. I’m sorry for that. I do need more from you than that. I’m just - not good at asking. And I have my own things to work through a bit, first.”

“You have seemed off today. Is that why?”

It was strange, being that seen. Being that known. Darva had passed most of his adult life drifting, never staying long enough to be really seen. Really known. And here Dorian was, not just aware of his subtle shifts in mood, but concerned for them.

“Yes. But I don’t want to burden you with it.”

“It’s not a burden if I’m asking, amatus.”

Darva had a dozen witty retorts, and two dozen more that weren’t quite as witty, but his mind circled back to a single thought over and over again. It is. You just don’t know it yet. And then he was imagining actually speaking the words out loud: I am sick. Wasting away from the inside out. I’m going to die. He imagined how Dorian’s face would change when he heard the news. How everything would change. And he hated the idea so violently that he wanted to stand and leave the room, leave the castle, slip out of his skin and into someone else’s entirely. It was all so terribly unfair - pinned between illness and death and Dorian, and all that their love promised.

“Like I said,” he went on finally. “I’m being an idiot. Can you give me another day or two to be an idiot about this?”

“Of course.”

Darva let go of Dorian’s hands then, but only so he could stand up from the table, walk around to the other side, take his lover’s face in both his hands, and bend down and kiss him on the lips. He felt Dorian’s gentle intake of breath ghost across his cheek - felt him part his lips in reply, welcoming Darva in - and everything was softness, connection, warmth from there. They cleared up from their dinner and walked around the battlements, hand in hand in the moonlight, not speaking anymore, just feeling.

Darva came to a different realization late that night. The way he felt about Dorian - the way he lay there, picturing his face, hearing his laugh, turning the images of his lover over and over and over in his mind - he had not felt this way about anyone ever before. It was different even than the way he’d felt about Sorrel, his first love - or about Livonah before that. And that meant he could not behave the way he had before. He couldn’t evade, hide, conceal. He had to be forthright. Honest.

He had to tell him that he was dying. Dorian would do with that information what he would. Darva had to show him the respect he deserved - had to give him that chance to decide what to do.

This realization was a more difficult one. It sat higher in his throat - choked off his breath, made it harder to breathe. But he knew it was the right one.

They set out the next morning for Crestwood, all thrilled to bits at the idea of the undead they’d be fighting, all joking loudly about it - with the exception of Cassandra of course, who simply let out one of her long-suffering sighs and rode on ahead to keep a lookout. Sera eventually joined her, declaring that she didn’t want to be stuck with the schmoopy-eyed lovebirds. With the two of them gone, Darva found himself fidgeting - tugging at loose threads on his saddle, fussing with his hair, trying to make sure all the dark curls were tucked away, disturbing some of them with his fussing, putting them back again. It didn’t take long for Dorian to start staring.

“Having another case of your wiggles, over there?” he asked, smiling. Darva felt heat rise into his face.

“I don’t have wiggles.” This was an opportunity, though - to speak about the root of his unease. Cassandra and Sera were far enough ahead after all. Courage, Darva. He cleared his throat. “I am, however, feeling rather fidgety. I - I do have something to tell you.”

Dorian nudged his horse closer. His brown eyes were already full of concern, dark-eyebrows knitted together with it.

“Tell me, then.”

There was nothing to do but jump.

“I’ve been feeling poorly. More poorly than usual. I went to the healers earlier this week and they confirmed it for me. I’m sick. The way my father was before he died.”

The words felt surreal in the midmorning light. Even this high in the mountains there was so much life - the evergreens were a vibrant emerald against the slate-colored slopes. Cardinals dove in and out of them, slashes of brilliant crimson against the white snow. Further still you could see down into Ferelden, its myriad shades of green, brown, and gold. And here Darva was talking about death - thinking about his own death, about how he felt pretty good today, all things considered. There wasn’t that swollen tenseness in the glands at his throat, and only half of his joints ached instead of all of them.

He was stalling, of course. Taking in the sights around him so he would not have to take in Dorian’s face. He relented eventually. He was not a coward after all.

Dorian’s face had changed little. His lips were set in a harder, thinner line. There was something burning in his eyes.

“Your father - he was killed by Orlesians.”

“Yes. But…”

“But you’ve always hinted at something else, too.”

Darva’s mind circled back once again to how unfair all this was. How he’d found a man he loved more than breath and bone, who could finish his sentences, follow the bent of his thoughts, and how he would have to leave him so soon.

“He had a wasting illness,” Darva said finally, voice quiet. “It would have killed him in months if the Orlesians hadn’t gotten to him first. And now I have it.”

The thing he had always feared, spoken plain, in the daylight. Darva looked back out over the ridge, towards Ferelden in miniature below. His horse stopped suddenly, and Darva turned back. Dorian’s hands were on his horse’s bridle, drawing them both to a stop.

“Amatus - you are certain?”

“Yes. I suspected it even before I went to the healers.” Unease gathered at the base of Darva’s spine, making him shift in the saddle. He wanted to dismount and pace, as if that would discharge it. “It’s hard to say how long I have of course. For all we know the Anchor will get me before then. Or a dragon or a darkspawn or I’ll trip over a pressure plate in one of these ruins we keep finding ourselves in and -”

Dorian’s hand was on his now, squeezing so tightly that Darva forgot to think of anything else. Darva met his gaze again. The thing burning in his lover’s eyes was tears, he realized with a jolt of anxiety, with a wave of love that threatened to sweep him away.

“Amatus - what can I do?”

Darva’s mind flashed with hundreds of flippant replies. He buried them all.

“Nothing that you aren’t already doing. And that’s okay. If anything - I hesitated to tell you this because I didn’t want you to feel like it put any kind of burden on you. You didn’t sign up for this. You don’t have to suffer just because I’m suffering. If you’d - if you’d rather end things here -”

“Stop. That’s total nonsense.” Dorian’s voice wobbled. He looked away. “Kaffas. I can’t believe you told me this now. On a horse at the start of a full day’s ride.”

Of course. Of course Darva had chosen the wrong moment. The wrong words. The same way he always did. He was no good at this. Not good enough for Dorian.

“I’m sorry. I spent all last night drumming up the courage and when I saw my opportunity I just - went for it. I shouldn’t have burdened you with this when you didn’t have time to process -”

“No.” Dorian turned back to him, edged his horse even closer, so he could reach out and cup the back of Darva’s head, drawing them even closer. “That’s not it at all, you dense and beautiful man. It is because I want nothing more than to hold you right now, and Sera is already making obscene gestures at us from down the road.”

Dorian did look at him a little differently for the rest of that day. He did seem a little more solicitous than usual. It created a spark of worry within Darva. Wasn’t this what he didn’t want? To be treated like an invalid? To have things change between them?

Then, that night, when the others had gone to bed, when it was just them and the campfire and the great black expanse of the night, the hundreds and hundreds of stars pricking through, when Dorian was finally able to hold him - that spark of worry was extinguished utterly. Because he was in the arms of the man he loved. Who loved him back. Because Dorian was warm and solid and there, and he wasn’t going anywhere, as he kept murmuring over and over against Darva’s hair.

“I’m here no matter what, amatus. You won’t face a single moment of this alone. I swear it.”

Darva wrapped himself in those words - stronger than any medicine, warmer than any blanket - and together the two of them kept night and sickness and death at bay until the sun rose, and it was enough.

#beach writes #beach does commissions #darva lavellan #darva x dorian #dorian pavus #goblin-deity #dragon age fanfic #pavellan fanfic #ahhh i so enjoyed working on this one #thank you!

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hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger · 5 years

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Spider-Gwen: Ghost Spider #4 Thoughts

The very, very, very end of Spider-Geddon and...a surprisingly great issue!

Covering this comic is very strange for me because I’m coming at it from two places mentally speaking.

Firstly I’m jumping into the fourth and final tie in issue to an event comic having not read the prior three issues.

Secondly I’m jumping into Spider-Gwen, a series I abandoned long ago, back in volume 2 issue #10 to be precise, which was published over 2 years before this issue was. It also had an entirely different writer/artist team back then.

Frankly I picked this up purely because I knew Mayday and some RYV characters were going to be in it. In that regard the issue was rather pointless, they cameo and do little else.

However I’m actually glad I bothered with the comic all the same. I was expecting this to be fluff and filler at best. An insufferable worshipping of Gwen Stacy, as so many comics (including Spider-Gwen itself) was when Spider-Gwen got big back in 2014-2016.

To my delight that wasn’t the case.

I admit to being rather lost with some plot points such as Gwen having a symbiote (this was brought up in Spider-Geddon #2 but it was unexplained there too) and how exactly Gwen can transverse dimensions.

However the rest of the issue was mostly good. Now I read Secret Wars: Spider-Verse, Web Warriors and Spider-Geddon #0-5 but I didn’t read any other Spider-Gwen or Ghost Spider issues so to me Gwen’s sense of loss over Noir and Spidey-UK felt rather unearned and cheap. It wasn’t that I didn’t think she’s be upset over losing a comrade but the deep sense of loss and words towards little habits within their respective relationships didn’t ring true to me. However that may have come up in issues I didn’t read so I’m willing to be corrected on that.

But based upon my reading Gwen feeling as sad as she did was a bit of a stretch. I also felt the milking of Spidey-UK’s death from a reader point of view was questionable because...did anyone honestly love that character? Spider-Man Noir I can understand, he has a fanbase (and this issue hammered home how asinine a decision it was to kill him back at the start of this event) but Billy Braddock? Who cares really? He was used for some cheap pathos in Web Warriors and that was about it. Now that being said I did love the idea behind him being buried in Lady Spider’s dimension as she was English (although if memory serves that was never confirmed outright, she may have simply lived in 1800s New York). I did wonder where the Hell Lady Spider was throughout this event though.

The addressing of Noir’s death though was much more necessary and as stupid as it was to kill him I do give Marvel credit for having an issue which addresses that. His fans deserved at least that much, particularly I think the Noir/Felicia shippers who are undoubtedly out there. I also very much appreciated how May, MJ and Felicia had different reactions to his death respectively.

Another great thing was that the general addressing of grief, sadness and death in the issue felt respectful. It felt real even though as I said the specifics of Gwen’s relationship with Noir and Spidey-UK didn’t quite ring true. It’s like it would’ve been perfect dialogue and execution if used for another character’s death. A small detail I especially liked in this regard was Gwen’s drumming as a coping mechanism. One of my major complaints in Latour’s issues was how Gwen’s hobbies and passions were underused and underdeveloped. She was a drummer but that didn’t factor that much into the stories I read. So to see McGuire embrace that is as welcome as Miles’ artistic talents in ITSV.

Now I admit, those of you who recall my thoughts on Latour’s Spider-Gwen book might be calling me a hypocrite here. Because another of my frequent complaints was how doom and gloom and glum Gwen typically was in that series from the outset, yet here I’m praising that.

I think the distinction is this. Latour came out the gate defining Gwen as grieving and guilt ridden, reeling from a tragedy that happened an undisclosed amount of time ago (but still making with the yuks and gags). Not only was this tonal whiplash but it also was a shitty way to set up a new ongoing series. It began world building for Gwen in media-res of extenuating circumstances and circumstances which were incredibly derivative of Peter Parker.

Where McGuire succeeds in this issue is by having not only a distinctly different tragedy but also the benefit of this occurring both after Gwen’s world has been built up and in the aftermath of a huge event. It’s totally realistic and earned that there would be a mourning for fallen warriors after a war. It’d be disrespectful for that not to be the case; in fact it’s kind of disrespectful that that mourning happens in a tie-in issue not the main book!

By having this issue actually deal with the aftermath it re-contextualizes the prior issues of the event. Spider-Geddon as a whole was definitely a bloated poorly written inconsistent mess. But this issue as a coda treats it with the weight the main book never had. There is an emotional realism to the story even though we are dealing with something as wacky as inter-dimensional travel and totem vampires.

This emotional realism is pulled off so well you even feel a little something for Karn’s death, you even feel bad he died alone and so violently even though again, no one is a fan of that character. No one gives a shit about him.

Part of this realism comes from McGuire from this one issue apparently being an inherently better writer than Latour ever was, at least for Spider-Gwen. Latour in all this works I’ve read emphasises style, and wants you to ‘watch’ the story unfold rather than feel like you are right there with the characters. You can ‘see’ Spider-gwen is upset but McGuire takes you inside her head and writes her grief from the inside out. Latour might’ve used internal narration but he rarely pulled this off, probably because he was too busy making a clown show on the side with stupid ass Spider-Ham cameos, wacky humour about the Bodega Bandit or building up Evil Daredevil instead of you know, the ACTUAL main character.

His Spider-Gwen work felt a lot like watching things sort of just happened rather than experiencing things unfolding like in this issue.

What further enhances this story is the deliberate or accidental metatext behind the story. No I am not talking about how Stan Lee had recently died when the issue came out, though that did make me tear up thinking about it.

Gwen has been rebranded Ghost Spider (though her recap page doesn’t quite admit that weirdly) and this is an issue about Gwen dealing with ghosts, dealing with death, spreading the grim news as a reluctant messenger of death. That angle just works in this issue and if embraced would work brilliantly as a new element to the character to latch onto. In no small part because, as the issue itself acknowledges, Gwen Stacy’s legacy is inherently linked to death.

That might be admittedly a radical departure from the punk rock youth vibe the series began with, but not only was that rather squandered by Latour (with bullshit like Hipster Electro and Hipster Kraven the Hunter, go fuck yourself seriously!) but at the end of the day that vibe is perhaps rather...shallow...for an ongoing character...??????

Other elements of the issue I liked was the artwork. It’s not much like what Rodriguez was going, which was I admit very distinct and gave Spider-Gwen’s series a unique identity. But this art is still lovely and works very well for the subject matter. What is particularly nice was the different period outfits Gwen adopted as she made her travels through the multiverse. Also, though this isn’t strictly ‘art’ per se, the word balloons at Karn’s funeral have a cool moment where everyone speaks a salute to Karn and the combined word balloons look like a spider. That was just a cool touch.

My final note is that McGuire has one of the best Peter Parker moments I’ve seen in a long time, and considering the quality of Spencer’s run that is not damning with faint praise (as it would’ve been just over a year ago). In the scene Spider-Gwen and 616 Peter discuss Gwen needing some time off and Gwen asks if that is selfish. On the one hand this is a little bit derivative of Peter Parker, King of Guilt and Responsibility. On the other hand I guess most heroes would ask this of themselves. Peter Parker surprisingly gives a very mature answer.

Now this answer is very much in character and logical for Peter, but it’s also something too often writers neglect in favour of writing Peter in a repetitive manner that renders him a caricature. Peter acknowledges it is selfish but that that is not wrong, He says the world will always need saving but the heroes get to pick their battles and have to sometimes rest, that indeed they deserve it.

Though a mere moment in a story not about him McGuire writes a Peter Parker who truly feels like a mature adult, that feels like the Peter who is truly the sum of his experiences.

Were this teenage or college aged Peter he wouldn’t have been likely to say that. If it was friggin Slott’s Peter Parker definitely not (even though he’d have still gone to play with Miles in the park rather than do his actual job). But a Peter Parker who’s insanely experienced and knows his limits? Yes absolutely he’d know he’s entitled to down time and more importantly needs it. It’s demonstrative of how guilt is present in his character and yet is not the defining trait. Responsibility is, and there is a responsibility to himself. Spidey-UK even echoes such a sentiment earlier in the story.

So with all that said I must admit this issue was a tremendous triumph from where I’m standing, I’d recommend you read it and would go so far as to call it the best issue of Spider-Gwen I’ve ever read sans her debut.

Does it change my feelings for Spider-Geddon as a whole?

No, it still sucked and was still pointless beyond resurrecting MC2 Peter (which in my book makes it worth it, sorry Spidey Noir fans, I’m sure he’ll be back eventually) but this last issue took it out on an unquestionable high note.

#Spider-Geddon #Spider-Gwen #Ghost Spider #Gwen Stacy #Spider-Man #Jason Latour #Robbi Rodriguez #Seanan McGuire #Peter Parker #Spider-Man Noir #Dan Slott #Nick Spencer #Lady Spider #May Parker

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luminisvii · 5 years

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Am I losing my shit about fanfiction again? You BET! It’s time for Tell to lose her goddamn mind about some truly awful fanfic! It’s my blog, I get to do what I want! And that’s to talk about how people are more blessed than they believe since they didn’t read this!

Today I’m going to talk about Super Smash Sisters: Damsel to Hero. Given the title uses a word like Damsel in it and it’s rated M, this is going to be GREAT

content warning for well what do you think a horny man on the internet would write ie: cheating, incest, terrible depictions of women being horny, violence (I don’t explain any of this in detail so you’re welcome. but it is mentioned) I’m not linking this thing because you guys don’t deserve this.

It took me forever to finish the entire fic, and I actually wrote most of this before finishing. You may say “Wait a second Tell, you need to fully read the work in order to discuss it!” No I do NOT. Trust me, this doesn’t need to be finished to understand. I needed moral support for this, I couldn’t have possibly read this by myself. I feel really sorry for my poor friends that have to deal with this horse shit with me because it’s kind of got a bit of je ne sai completely godawful. I’m semi tough and can stomach some senseless nonsense pretty nicely, but the real heroes here are my friends for toughing out the rampant sex and terrible female character writing all mixed with Call of Duty plot and characters. You thought this was about Smash Bros? WRONG!

I know exactly jack about the author, Yamagata, other than they are probably some poor horny straight guy in high school or maybe a genius troll. We just don’t know. Either way they were pretty dedicated. The fic itself is 91,621 words and 45 chapters, and apparently on hiatus but we all know hiatus is just another word for dead. It’s better off that way. All good awful fics end on a cliffhanger.

The premise, as the title implies, is that all the men of Smash are kidnapped by nazis or some shit after a failed drug raid and it’s up to all the women to save them of which there are Zelda, Peach, and Samus because this was written in the Brawl era. You might think “Wait, isn’t that not a lot of female characters?” right you are! The author decides to bring in tons of female characters from all sorts of video games and anime. A personal favorite is a major character in this fic is Bright Noah from Gundam, notably not a woman. I love him! I’m disappointed he hasn’t slapped anyone yet! What’s the point of importing Bright Noah into a fanfic if he isn’t going to deliver a Bright Slap? Sorry folks, there’s gonna be me getting distracted about Gundam once in a while.

I can’t remember exactly what happens because the chapters really blur together quickly. They’re almost always first half violence in COD land and second half really bad lesbian sex scenes. See, the title is a misnomer. The women don’t actually do a lot of hero work. It’s still handled by men. Ones who aren’t even from Smash Bros. Bright Noah and another guy called Hargrove who I’m not familiar with are constantly telling the women what to do and while the women sometimes go on missions to fight Nazis or whatever, half the time we’re following some random male characters. A good friend had no idea one of them was Tuxedo Mask because they used his dub name and we spent like ten chapters with this idiot before realizing it was him. They just spend their time fighting different various enemies from real life as opposed to smash. So the guys fight and then the women all fuck because when your boyfriend is missing you have to immediately bang the nearest female out of grief. It’s not cheating if it’s gay! Even worse is there’s a lot of incest because apparently that’s how women act, too. Also for some reason when the women DO fight it plays exactly like the men’s side but with Bright Noah just telling them what to do. Also for some reason Peach just fucking kills people and I’m not really sure how to deal with that. Like, yeah, I guess.

Let’s try to do a plot recap but that’s going to be difficult because I’m not sure what the plot is. Okay, in theory, I do. But we’re just circling around and doing the same thing so many times that I’m plain lost.

In theory, the plot is as mentioned before. The men of Smash get kidnapped and turned to trophies by Nazis. I’m noting that besides Nazis the men are all brutally murdered in order to turn them into trophies. Then it turns out that Samus, Peach, and Zelda are safe because they were at the Smash Mansion cleaning and having sex as princesses and bounty hunters are known to do. Then they find out from Bright that the men have been kidnapped so they have to form a task force against them. So there’s a long ass paragraph of characters, many of which do not have speaking lines until much later anyway, but they’re all female characters from other games or anime. I’m really into Fire Emblem and there’s a bunch of those so time to cry. Bright has to tell these women to stop being so damn emotional and be ready to start murdering.

Also in the first chapter, we have the reveal of the villain, some Tabuu knock-off named Emerald. She too recruits a ton of villainous characters who all introduce themselves AFTER THEY’VE BEEN RATTLED OFF IN PARAGRAPH FORM. You didn’t get it the first time? They’re all going to painstakingly state their name and identity. Admittedly it’s kind of funny to have Cell in a room with Liquid Snake and Ashnard. Also who invited Valtome? They didn’t even invite Zelgius. Maybe our favorite Begnion General figured out that a certain thirsty ass senator was gonna be there and stayed in bed today. Okay, fewer tangents, I promise.

With the establishing of all the villains and heroes, everything instantly turns to shit. Half the time we’re not even following a group who’s connected to the main characters and when we are with the main characters they are either having terrible sex or shooting nazis. This sounds like it’d be funnier than it is but it’s really Grade A Depressing. I can’t tell what’s going on or why and since I have exactly no knowledge of Call of Duty I’m afraid I don’t know anything about our actual protagonists either. Every chapter starts with some pretentious usually WWII related quote and involves some guys dying and then some ladies bonking. It’s the same format every time and after a while I feel like this is some advanced torture method.

Among the bad sex is for some reason moms are banging their elementary school age daughters because their husbands are out. Women are so horny they’d rather fuck their children than wait long enough for their husbands. It’s so messed up. My eyes naturally glaze over on the sex scenes because they’re kind of clinically written and something about cute pussies or whatever. I feel bad for Bright Noah, he has to break up these badly written orgies to talk more about the nonexistent plot. Bright Noah needs a raise. All in all the sex is something that maybe a 13 year old boy might find hot if he hasn’t managed to read all the other way better smut fics out there. If 13 year old boys even do things like that.

Since there’s no way for me to coherently walk through the plot since each scene hardly seems to amount to anything besides either violence or a roll in the hay, I’ll just have to start briefly talking about the few notable things that happen, probably out of order. Who the fuck even knows what chapters these happened in? I sure don’t!

First off, a lot of the women conscripted into the task force have supernatural powers but they’re just given guns. I also think the author has something for Krystal or whatever since we focus on her a lot for no good reason. The women are also often infiltrating secret bases to nazis or other bad guys that I’m not as well versed in because admittedly I’m not that interested in the history of warfare, modern or old. I just assume this is a COD thing. But in order to infiltrate the bases, they just wave papers at literally every guy they come across and that does it somehow. I started going ballistic and every time they mentioned papers I would start screeching again. They get stopped by some dude and he’s always like “Where are your papers?” and they ALWAYS have the papers and then they go past but the author FEELS THE NEED TO KEEP BRINGING IT UP. It’s like The Black Fucking Mountains again. Something I’ve learned about myself is that I do poorly with overly repetitive writing, so I wonder why I’m reading world’s most repetitive piece ever penned for fun. I can’t recall anything that happens in any chapters.

Somewhere in the mix they actually save Ike, Marth, and Roy. Somehow the most in character thing in the entire fic happens with them when it’s offhandedly mentioned that they sometimes dogpile into the same bed as a joke. What was more shocking to me is that suddenly Ike is a total nuclear bomb genius out of nowhere. Sure, he’s from a medieval fantasy setting, he knows what nukes are. We finally get some more plot. Apparently Emerald is trying to develop some insanely powerful nuke in order to destroy the trophies of the remaining captured heroes. See, she’s holding them ransom so she can get… money? Power? Fame?

Trying to do this from memory is so hard. I did My Inner Life practically all from memory, only going in there for the copy and pasted quotes! What the heck? This fic just slides off my brain. I don’t know if finishing it is even worth it since it’s not like I’m reading any of the sex scenes in detail (I mean why would I, a woman with decent taste, want to read about usagi feeling up chibi usa) and I sure as hell can’t understand the Call of Duty parts so in conclusion this fic really wasn’t targeted at me.

But whatever. So now the main crew has to slaughter their way to bomb storage or development or something. Some of the COD guys died and I didn’t notice, some of the villains died (tragically Valtome was K.I.A.) and all in all too much sex was happening. Seriously, Mist has sex on her brother’s bed, that’s kind of nasty. I don’t know why I’m so hung up on all of that. It’s like the piss drinking thing, it’s a minor offense in a long line of “HOLY FUCKING SHIT” but here’s where I get derailed.

How many times can I say that this fic is terrible? Because it is. I don’t understand who a lot of these characters are and why they’re here or what they’re doing. I managed to read to the end and all that I learned was Shadow the Hedgehog apparently cheated on Rouge with some guy called Makarov who is another major villain. What, so when Rouge cheats on him with another woman it’s fine, but when he cheats on her with a man he gets killed for it? I smell double standard! Don’t worry, I’m a feminist, I support equal rights of everyone getting punished for their perpetual horniness. Still, there’s this shocking turn of events where the men are somehow the ones who aren’t constantly obsessed with sex and the women are going around topless and banging each other constantly while homosexuality in men is seen as evil and wrong. For some reason I think the person who wrote this might be a man. He feels the need to remind us, 40 chapters in, that there will be No Yaoi scenes but plenty of Yuri. No shit dude, like, fuck! I didn’t know!

Towards the end, Washington DC gets overrun by Colombians and the team has to kill them. There’s some drawn out attack sequence where everything is described in monotonous detail with military terms I don’t understand. I have a general revulsion to military weeaboos as they are sometimes called, so this stuff turns my stomach. It also features Kenichi, the main character of the animated Metropolis adaptation, which I DID see a long time ago! This little boy is killing people! It’s fine! Also it mentions Frau Bow from Gundam and discusses that she’s training to fight in a mobile suit to help support, but Peach and Samus are the ones who actually use the mobile suits. Peach kills people in the RX-78-2. I’m not sure how to feel about that. Another aside is King Boo is in the mix and he dies. How do ghosts die? Asking for a friend.

There’s also some weird aside of the COD guys doing an arrest in Disneyland. Gaz, Soap, and Price all go there guns akimbo and chase down some dudes and some people die. I don’t think Disney would like that. This also comes out of nowhere, Gaz was playing fucking Go with this dude called Katsuie and it was practically a smash cut transition of “well I arrested a guy in Disneyland once wanna HEAR about it?” and it was. Something. I don’t understand why we did this.

We end with Krystal and Fox discussing that she’s breaking up with him because while he was held hostage, she got engaged to a woman and is unceremoniously dumping him. The scene was honestly kind of funny for the fact that she was having a lesbian three way in his fucking bathroom and then was like “Yeah we’re not dating anymore. I’m engaged. Later idiot!” while naked. Shortly after it’s decided that they need to bomb some German base, I think. So Bright Noah tells the crew to suit up and get ready, and so Krystal and her Lesbians fly off to go fight. Krystal ends up in a one on one with a dude called Scales who I’m unfamiliar with since I don’t know Star Fox lore but I’m sure it’s super important to Krystal. The duel ends so badly that Fox needs to jump in and he and Scales end up plummeting to their death out a window and also getting blown up by grenades. Fox just fucking died for the girlfriend that cheated on him the second he wasn’t home. Honey, you deserve more than this, and Krystal deserves to be treated better by the narrative as well. He gives his blessing as he’s dying, though, so it’s fine.

The whole thing ends shortly after that. It was never completed, not that I think it could be, since I read all 91k words and I still don’t understand who is who, what’s going on, or why things are happening. Even if I did know all the characters featured I don’t think it’d help. I know about 50% of them and it’s not helpful at all. I completely forgot that Emerald is a thing. She’s the main villain! She’s hardly in it! The guy should have cut the shit and just written

Tell’s recommendation? Don’t read this unless you’re really, truly a masochist. It’s not funny enough most of the time to justify the insanity. It’s sexist and racist. Chapters monotonously drone on with the same things happening almost every time. The bad sex isn’t even funny. Save yourself the trouble and if you really must know, check out the first few chapters only and then call it. The author has other works that I haven’t read but I’m not sure that I will based on the quality of this work, and they also published something as recently as 2017 meaning they could probably rise from the hiatus grave and kick my ass for trash talking them.

One Sentence Review: Bright Noah doesn’t slap anyone.

#don't tell me tell #i gotta think of a tag for when i go feral about fanfiction

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sloumate · 6 years

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I think it’s time to do a recap of the whole year, isn't it? For me, 2017 has been such an intense year: i can say that i have experienced more things that i had ever experienced in my whole life, from the purest joy that came from studying abroad and having the chance to get to know many beautiful people, to overcome my limits and get out of the comfort zone which had always been a wall between me and the rest of the world, to the darkest pain that can only come from grief. As i always say, though, fics have been a safety blanket for me, they helped me through some really tough times and i am forever grateful for the authors that have decided to put their work out there for us all to enjoy.

To all the authors i’m gonna mention in this post: thank you from the bottom of my heart. ♥

So, here are my favorite fics from this year (put in chronological order):

{ 2016 list here / more fics here }

Stars and Boulevards by cherrystreet / @cherrystreet / 6k

They’d been friends for years, had known each other throughout middle school and into high school, meeting in a music class on a sticky September morning. They hit it off instantly, falling into one another immediately, never looking back. Their friendship was comfortable, genuine, safe, always there, achingly present and solid. Harry never felt uneasy confiding in Louis, their one year age gap making Louis somehow seem more worldly, more experienced, and even when Harry had to look down at Louis, he still looked up to him. They spent the quickly passing school years making each other’s homes their own, Harry’s mom calling Louis her honorary second son, Louis’ mom giving Harry a similar title, and everyone knew that if you wanted to find Harry, you had to find Louis first.

Like a boomerang by youwilll / 51k

AU in which Harry gets trapped in a lift, Louis gets stuck in a Wednesday, and it's always February 2nd. Until it isn't.

The End Should Be A Good One by bananasandboots / @anylessreal / 43k

The one where Harry loses the love of his life on New Years Eve and finds him again, six months later, ready to open some poorly-stitched wounds.

Shape of You by sincewewereeighteen / @downgoesanotherhero / 21k

The club isn't the best place to find a lover, but somehow they find each other.

Dance Like Warriors On A Battlefield by whoknows / @crazyupsetter / 20k

Down in the arena, the triumphant gladiator places his foot on the back of the loser, holding him there as he waits for instruction on his next move. Kill or let live. It’s barbaric, really, the bloodlust involved in this sport. Louis is pretty sure that if it wasn’t for his distaste for the killing there would be a lot more blood soaking that sand.

As it is, his father rarely gives the kill order anymore. He gives the order to let the loser live. Louis rolls his eyes, turning away. He doesn’t miss the way the gladiator’s eyes linger on him.

Tangled up in you by missandrogyny / @missandrogyny / 45k

Harry blinks once. And blinks again. And says, his voice dangerous: “Niall, did you get me a mail-order bride?” Because what the actual fuck. It kind of looks like Niall’s just purchased a person. For Harry. Niall blinks back at him for a few moments, before throwing his head back and howling with laughter. Harry throws a pillow at him. Hard. “No, what the fuck, Harry.” “A prostitute then?” Harry also doesn't want a prostitute. “Of course not!” “A stripper?” “No!” Damn, he’s running out of ideas. He settles for launching another pillow at Niall’s head. Niall bats it away easily, still laughing. “Stop!” “What did you get me, then?!” Niall must hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice, because he’s pulling himself together, trying to stop himself from laughing. There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.” A professional…what. “What?”

Perfect Storm by cherrystreet / @cherrystreet / 80k

What do you do when your best friend asks you and your (now) ex to be the best men at his destination wedding? You can either tell him the truth, tell him you’re not together anymore, and deal with the consequences, or you can pretend you’re still together and roll with it, just pray you don’t spiral. Fake it ‘til you make it. You know, for the sake of the wedding.

Harry and Louis choose the latter.

All the Right Moves by cherrystreet / @cherrystreet / 32k

This is the third game in a row that Harry has been distracted by the noisy boy in the stands, five rows back.

There’s really no reason that he should feel compelled to stare into the audience as frequently as he is, but he can’t help it. This boy is a nuisance. And he’s loud. Even from basketball court with nine other players running by him, shoes squeaking on the shiny hardwood floor, and thousands of cheering college students, Harry can hear this boy nearly shrieking, his laugh more like a cackle than anything.

It’s seriously obnoxious.

Say Hallelujah, Say Goodnight by alivingfire / @alivingfire / 110k

Louis is an angel who is just a little too bad to be good, Harry is a demon who is just a little too good to be bad, and they're both a little too in love to be impartial when angels and demons go to war.

The Melody You Never Heard by bananasandboots / @anylessreal / 30k

The one where Harry gets roped into a four-day camping trip with the boy who kissed him and never called back.

Atlas At Last by louisandthealien / 83k

It’s 1978. Harry and Louis are just trying to get to San Fran in time for the Queen concert.

Pour Your Heart Out by hrrytomlinson / @hrrytomlinson / 92k

Louis is his soulmate. Or at least Harry thinks he is. Louis feels the same as Louis. But there are a lot of people named Louis in the world and this Louis might not be the Louis. It’s besides the point though, because Harry knows he can’t allow himself to get close to any boys. He just can’t and he’s told himself this multiple times. He has to simply stay away from Louis Tomlinson. But he can’t. Harry Styles can never stay away from Louis Tomlinson. It’s physically impossible for him to.

Show Me How The Fire Works by turnyourankle / 49k

The Styles-Twist holiday in the Catskills is supposed to be just that: a family holiday. A last hurrah before Harry relocates to the states for uni. Instead, it quickly devolves into a honeymoon for his parents, leaving Harry and Gemma to fend for themselves. Harry quickly befriends the staff at the resort, and is enticed by Louis, one of the dance instructors. Harry gets in over his head in an attempt to impress him, but with Gemma egging him on and a ticking clock, how could he not at least try?

Or, the Dirty Dancing AU no one asked for.

Rivers 'til i reach you by embodied / @crossnecklace / 29k

AU. Louis studies astronomy; Harry studies Louis. They spend their summers on the water and it shouldn't be complicated (spoiler: it is).

Got the sunshine on my shoulders by hattalove / @hattalove / 124k

five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone.

now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he's rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he's forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who's spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him.

(or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

Waiting On You by emma1234 / @lads-laddylads / 76k

“Vampires,” Louis says with disgust, glaring over at the vampire who is noisily slurping from the woman’s neck nearby.

Zayn gives the neat fang marks on Louis’ neck a meaningful look.

“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” Louis finishes, ignoring Zayn when he rolls his eyes.

Louis takes a long sip of his milkshake, presses his fingers against the marks on his neck, and definitely doesn’t think about the vampire who left them there.

Above your head by deadspy / 57k

Space AU. Louis is an astronaut. Harry works for Mission Control. They don't get along.

Do Not Go Gentle by afirethatcannotdie / @afirethatcannotdie / 70k

When Harry Styles starts his first day as a surgical intern, he expects a lot of things: to treat patients, to observe a surgery, to feel a bit overwhelmed. What he definitely doesn't expect, however, is that the handsome guy he kicked out of his bed this morning is also an intern.

A Grey’s Anatomy AU where tensions are high, Harry and Louis are hooking up in secret, and no one has time for love. Or do they?

Through Eerie Chaos by MediaWhore / 102k

The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process.

Back To You And Tennessee by rippedgloves / 57k

Louis Tomlinson rises to rock and roll fame at age twenty three and is thrown into a life of luxury and excess, but being on stage isn’t easy for a boy who has always stuck to the side-lines, and Louis struggles to deal with his new fame as he joins the Grand Ole Opry and is sent out on tour with names like Liam Payne and Elvis Presley. His life takes a turn, however, when his childhood role model, Harry Styles, joins them on tour, and the two become closer than two men in the spotlight are allowed to be.

OR, the one where Louis is Johnny Cash and Harry is June Carter

Barefoot in Blue Jeans by indiaalphawhiskey / 24k

AU. Louis Tomlinson is trying desperately hard not to fall for his son’s au pair, but he can’t, for the life of him, remember why.

The wonderlands by stylinsoncity / 150k

Harry's daughter, Andy, is signed to Louis' girl band. Her path to success is marked by competition, chaos, and for Harry, a love affair.

Sometime Around Midnight by cherrystreet / @cherrystreet / 3k

Louis is trying to get over his ex, and he thinks that paying their favourite band a visit might help bring him some closure.

He's wrong.

Paint Me In A Million Dreams by green_feelings / 110k

In short, Harry's in love with someone and doesn't care about dating anyone else, Louis never felt home in L.A., Liam writes love songs for someone he shouldn't write love songs to, and Niall makes everything better with good food.

It's a Better Place (Since You Came Along) by phdmama / 51k

When Harry Styles, a mid-level talent, Finder, and small business owner, sets off on the vacation of a lifetime with his best friend, Niall Horan, he has no idea the changes his life will undergo over the next nine days. He's got it all planned - there's going to be shore excursions, lounging by the pool on the deck of the luxurious cruise ship, not to mention margaritas. What he does not plan for are the new friends, new bonds, or the mystery from his past that comes back to haunt him, and he certainly hasn't planned for Louis.

Here, There, and Everywhere by harioandlouigi / 54k

Louis was in a rut. He was still living in the same small Texas town he’d hated all his life, he was about to graduate with a degree he’d never been interested in, and he was hooking up with a guy he didn’t even like just because it was probably his only chance to be with another man.

And then someone else’s overindulgences triggered a series of events that lead to where Louis is now, touring the world as a roadie for Harry Styles.

You're A Universe by Jiksa / 15k

Louis’s a stay-at-home dad in London and Harry’s a business expat in Qatar. Louis doesn’t know how much longer their marriage can survive the distance.

Chasing Empty Spaces by Lis (domesticharry) / 79k

The year is 1934 and Harry Styles was to inherent the largest tobacco firm in the south. His parents have picked out the “perfect” girl for him to marry and he has the privilege of receiving the highest education possible. The problem was, Harry hadn’t realized he didn’t actually want any part of that future until he met a mechanic named, Louis Tomlinson.

Given a Chance by Fabby / 173k

the one where Louis and Harry run into each other five years after One Direction ends and learn how to love each other again. Featuring: Reggie as the overweight labrador, Niall as Louis’ last grip on reality, and Nowheresville, North Carolina as the setting for Louis’ worst nightmare to come true.

Golden Like Sands of Time by afirethatcannotdie / @afirethatcannotdie / 51k

AU. Harry and Zayn are spending the summer on an island, and there's a plethora of booze and bonfires and boys. Or in Harry's case, just one boy.

One Shines Brighter by afirethatcannotdie / @afirethatcannotdie / 11k

Harry's wedding was never supposed to be the happiest day of his life. No, that was going to be the day after, when he finally got to start his marriage. Unfortunately his family (and Louis) have other ideas.

Featuring a pair of moms who only want the best for their kids, meddling sisters with too much time on their hands, and a groom who gets caught up in the fairytale.

Turning Page by purpledaisy / 67k

AU: Harry Styles tries to get lost in a place he’s never been. Louis Tomlinson has been perfecting the art of being lost for years. What they don’t expect to find is each other.

Runaway Land by daggerinrose / @thetommmo / 103k

Louis is sure he’s stumbled upon a secret, underground nightclub, though that is far from the truth. He’s also pretty sure he’s stumbled upon Apollo, which… isn’t very far from the truth, actually.

Modern Greek mythology AU.

The World Still Turns by hrrytomlinson / @hrrytomlinson / 21k

They had their eyes on the stars.

Harry and Louis have known each other since they were tiny little boys, both wildly obsessed with airplanes, space, and the stars. More than twenty years later, Harry plans to propose to Louis, but when he wakes up, Louis is gone.

Where I Belong by hopeneverdies / 31k

Harry Styles is an introverted director of a small nature reserve in Norfolk County, England. Louis Tomlinson is an Emmy winning wildlife documentary filmmaker with a bad boy reputation. When Louis arrives at Harry's reserve in search of a new project, and a new path in life, Harry is less than thrilled. Yet, the two men realize that working together may benefit them both, especially when the future of the reserve is threatened by a large corporation and its powerful CEO.

Things Gone Cold by MediaWhore / 24k

With his soulmate’s thoughts about him written on his skin and the world’s eyes trailing his every movement, Harry Styles is having a bit of a rough time releasing his second album in peace. And that’s not even counting the breakup. Or the car crash.

Can't Fool Me by emma1234 / @lads-laddylads / 30k

AU where Louis hates fraternities and would never be into a frat boy. And one of these things is definitely not a lie.

No Place Without You by fackinglouis / 19k

A Wanderlust AU in which Harry doesn't have a permanent home and stays with Louis when he visits NYC.

You Know Sometimes Words Have Two Meanings by alienharry / 22k

Harry and Louis navigate the universe.

No One Like You by myownspark / 19k

Where Liam and Niall are art historians discovering the truth about two nineteenth century painters on opposite sides of an artistic divide.

We're What's Right In This World by BriaMaria / 48k

the World War II AU where Harry goes off to fight and all Louis wants to do is be the boy who brings him home.

Never mind the odds (i'm gonna try my luck) by spit_on_me_larry / 59k

Featuring Louis as a writer/workaholic, Harry as a plastic surgeon with a heart of gold, Zayn and Niall as Louis’ colleagues and long-suffering best mates, and Liam as everyone’s favorite pediatric surgeon and Harry’s right-hand man.

Walk That Mile by purpledaisy / 141k

A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan.

You flower, you feast by stylinsoncity / 18k

He's King of the Underworld, but don't assume Louis has it all. He could stand for some excitement in his monotonous, eternal life and maybe, even.....a soulmate.

(Despite not having a soul.)

And along came "Harry".

(We will be) as if chosen by alivingfire / @alivingfire / 35k

the course of true love never did run smooth, because sometimes people are stubborn and sometimes people are scared and sometimes, just sometimes, love can cause just as many problems as it solves.

The dead things we carry by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics / 25k

There are some things people never fully come home from. Until, one day, if they’re lucky, home comes to them.

(Take Me Home) Country Roads by Awriterwrites / 86k

A Northern Exposure AU featuring Louis as the big city doctor, Harry as a natural healer, Niall as a secretive barkeep, Liam and Zayn head over heels for each other but they don't know it and a lot of hurt, comfort and moonshine in between.

Falling, catching by tsuneni / 23k

the one where Harry likes poems, soft sweaters, old novels, and that one boy in his Romantic Poetry course that keeps falling asleep during lectures.

Like Vines We Intertwined by bananasandboots / 11k

the one where Harry and Louis first figure it out. A prequel to You Watched Me Sink.

Kiwi by fondleeds / 24k

AU. Harry plays on Saturday nights at The Motley. Louis bartends on Saturday nights at The Motley.

It’s a thing.

Knives don't have your back by turnyourankle / 51k

The lone survivor of an on campus massacre that claimed the lives of his four housemates, Harry is urged to take a sabbatical or transfer. Instead, he chooses to stay in school, move into the dorms, and overcome his fears.

He finds comfort in a budding friendship with Louis, an upperclassman who lives on his floor, not realizing that their relationship will bring him closer to his traumatizing past rather than further from it.

You and Me by delsicle / 36k

Alex goes to war. He comes back and everything is the same -- his hometown, his flat, the boy with the bad heart he left behind.

Everything is same. Except for him.

Things unspoken by stylinsoncity / 6k

he wants to say it. he’s waited his whole life to say it. but how do you tell your childhood best friend you want them?

Yellow by 13ways / 84k

A Batman/ Catwoman AU

Find You Home by FullOnLarrie / @fullonlarrie / 35k

When Louis lies to his family and says he’ll bring his new boyfriend home for Christmas, his best friend and roommate Harry agrees to play the part. It’s that, or be left alone over the holidays. What will happen? No one knows! Perhaps Santa will swoop in with a Christmas miracle. (Featuring lovesick idiots, kissing and cuddling, pies and Christmas clichés.)

The Unexplained by mooninherhair / 34k

Harry has just moved to Los Angeles to work for HiveNews Media, and his dark mood from homesickness and his creepy new apartment inspire a brilliant idea for a new paranormal video series. Unfortunately, he finds himself partnered with the biggest ghost skeptic of them all. Will they be able to get along well enough to get the series off the ground? And what's going on with the other unexplained events that are beginning to surround their lives?

To the light by fondleeds / @fondleeds / 13k

AU. Harry is a mermaid lost at sea and Louis is a boy determined to make his first Christmas a memorable one.

#i'll add more if i read smth new before new year #2017 fic rec #fic rec #larry fics #hl fics #hl #ff #rec list #recs #fics #a year in fics #mine #fic masterpost

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nicolecometa · 4 years

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movie review: slow west

(image and synopsis from: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt3205376/)

synopsis: A young Scottish man travels across America in pursuit of the woman he loves, attracting the attention of an outlaw who is willing to serve as a guide.

SPOILERS BELOW

summary: Jay Cavendish, the 16-year-old Scottish man, paid an American outlaw, Silas Selleck, to help him find Rose Ross, who is deemed as a peasant and Jay’s love. The movie unfolds slowly, taking short glimpse of Jay’s memories with Rose as he learns the realities of the Wild West alongside Silas. At the same time, Silas discovered a bounty on Rose and her father, a $2000 reward whether dead or alive. He kept this secret from Jay until Silas had encountered a familiar bounty hunter. When the two reached the prairie, which has a small house standing, Silas tied Jay to the tree for his safety. Violence arose, leaving the bounty hunters that was once affiliated with Silas, Victor the Hawk, Rose’s father, and Rose’s lover dead. The huge twist occurred the same time, Rose shot Jay in response to panic. In the end, Rose and Silas stayed together alongside the two children that he and Jay had previously encountered.

critique: It was painstakingly slow, and too short. The kind of slow that didn’t bore any sort of tension or interest throughout the movie. With the movie being too short, it leaves the audience unsatisfied and disconnected from the two main characters that were supposed to contrast and to learn from each other.

Furthermore, the narration was from Silas’ perspective to tell the story of Jay and his journey to find Rose, which isn’t effective as the movie jumps from one perspective to another. Though, the perspective mainly remains in Jay until the second half of the movie where we see Rose and her father alive, Victor the Hawk’s shooting attempts, and Silas’s rush to warn Rose of the danger. This feels undoubtedly messy, and the movie shouldn’t have included the narration in order to prevent quick assumptions to whose story is being told.

The representation of the Native Americans weren’t effective or being taken seriously. The presence of the Natives are seen throughout the movie, Jay witnessed the Natives taking the opposite direction as he moved forward to find their camps burnt, Wener’s criticism of the rising extinction of the Natives, Jay and Silas encountered Natives attempting to protect their sacred forest, and Kitori, a Native who is Rose’s lover. Cultural references were stated and shown visually of the lives of the Natives. However, there was one scene that displays “cowardice” upon the Natives and were used as a comedic relief. Jay and Silas encounter of the Natives in the sacred forest, Jay was shot by a Native archer, followed by two Native attempting to steal their horses. He and Silas watched the Natives fail and run away. I believe that this is not funny, and leaves an uneasy taste. I expected Silas to deal with the Natives through violence or the means of peace due to the fact that these two are discriminated by the civilized society. So, the encounter fell short and unsatisfied.

One flashback was supposed to be important, but felt choppy and trifling. The overall connection with Rose and Jay was flat. There was no genuine love between the two, even if Rose stated how Jay is a “little brother” to her, and how Jay is in love with her. There was no sense of connection in body language and subtleness they could have shown. Rose had Jay hide under the bed in order to not let him be seen by her father when it would have been better to show Jay wanting to be part of Rose’s life and her family despite his social status. Additionally, the argument between Jay and his father, leading to his father’s death felt unsatisfied as it was supposed to be a turning point for everyone’s lives since Jay’s father is rich. However, the occupation of Jay’s father is left a mystery, though seemingly powerful enough to have Rose and her father being hunted down. The death Jay’s father is merely a shock value than a genuine event in order to feel Jay’s appall and grief and anger.

Lastly, I commend the visual appeal the movie was able to deliver. However, there weren’t any memorable shots, despite the dreamy appearance of the landscapes. There were a few awkward shots:

inconsistent lighting where Silas and Jay meet for the first time.

the 1st blur where Jay watches Silas drew a gun at an officer’s head.

Jay rolling down the slope. (flashback)

the awkward close up shot of Jay sniffing a mushroom.

the 2nd blur where Silas sees his former affiliated bounty hunter group from the distance.

The movie has a lot of flaws. I don’t believe it’s “original”, though I haven’t watched enough Wild West movies in my part to discern the nuances of each representation of the Wild West and what makes one “original” from the other. It is slow and short that is executed poorly, leaving dissonance for all characters and no one to really root for.

recommend: NO. I don’t recommend it, but you can have it as a background noise as the music score is decent.

rating: 5/10

#films

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