#this was so flat and uninterested in saying anything beyond the obvious | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 9

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language + mentions of sensitive topics Warnings: Referenced past abuse. Does not go into detail. Notes: Longest Serenade chapter yet at 4k+ words! Bit of angst, majority is fluffy fluffer fluff though. Next chapter is maximum h*rny, with two versions depending on reader, uh, equipment. EDIT: Forgot to put title, like dumbass. Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony, Pt. 8: Obbligato

Chapter 9: Berceuse

(Berceuse: A lullaby. Generally slow and undulating.)

One moment you’re playing the piano, lovingly demonstrating a song you’d like Daniela to learn, the next you’re blue screening as she places a teasing kiss to your neck. It takes all of your willpower to keep playing, improvising a way to end the song right then and there. Then you’re turning to Daniela, eyes wide, blushing hard. She’s giggling. When she regains her composure, you give her a confused expression.

“I’m pretty sure this is the first time you’ve made real eye contact with me all morning. What gives?” She asked, frowning slightly. Awkwardly rubbing the back of your neck, you avoid her gaze, doing little else than proving her point. This frustrates her, and she lets out an aggravated sigh. I should probably tell her what happened, you think, dreading the idea. Still, the two of you had been making an effort to communicate better. What kind of partner would you be if you didn’t tell her about her mother’s intervention?

“Okay, okay… I wasn’t sure how to bring this up, but if I’m being this obvious about it anyway…” You started, trailing off anxiously. In response, Daniela places one of her hands over yours, giving you a reassuring squeeze. Though your face somehow gets even redder, the action gives you the courage required to continue. “I had another progress update meeting with your mother yesterday. I was worried, since this was the first one where you weren’t present, but I didn’t- I mean, er… Fuck it, she knows you’re interested in me. Doesn’t think we’re already together, thank God, but she told me, and I quote, that my response should be ‘swift and uninterested’. What are-” before you can finish you’re cut off by a loud groan, followed by your girlfriend cradling her head in her hands. Yeah, you think, this is about what I expected.

“Of course she did! I can’t have anything nice,” Daniela snapped, having gone from ten to sixty real quick. You’re just glad that she wasn’t taking it out on the piano. “How would she even know about us? I only stare at you when she’s not looking!” Oh? Since when did she stare at you? Certainly if Lady Dimitrescu had noticed, you would have as well?... Then again, the few times where all three of you were in the same room usually involved you working while they chatted or ate together. Still, the idea of Daniela making heart eyes at you from across the room was enough to make you blush again. “Look, she’s probably making some assumptions. There’s no way she knows as much as she thinks she does, at least not about us. So let’s just be careful- ugh, I sound like Bela- and otherwise keep doing what we do. Alright, songbird?”

“If you’re sure, then so am I. Let’s try to focus on our lesson for now, though,” you replied, doing your best to sound confident. Hoping to add in a little reassurance, you give Daniela a quick peck on the cheek. Unsurprisingly she ‘dodges’, instead kissing you on the lips, but you hardly mind at all. When she pulls back she’s got a huge grin on her face.

“Lesson now, fun later, got it. Speaking of later… You and me, inside the library, right after lunch. I’ll tell mother we’re going over theory and key recognition, but really-” she leans in close, mouth barely an inch from your ear “it’s a date. Don’t worry about getting caught, I’ve already made sure that neither Bela nor Cassandra will interrupt.” Your heart skipped a few beats at her suggestion, and you had to admit… you were beyond excited for this. When was the last time you had gone on an actual date? Years ago, just a month before you left your hometown and moved to the village. That had been a date you’d spend the rest of your life regretting… then again, it was what made you leave in the first place. And if you hadn’t left, you’d have never met Daniela.

Maybe it hadn’t been that bad after all.

————————————

Four minutes past one in the morning, you shuffled nervously towards the library, with note cards in hand. Even if you weren’t really going to help Daniela study, you wanted to be prepared in case you bumped into anyone along the way. After all, this was the night shift, when most of the servants were up and about, accomplishing any tasks deemed ‘too noisy’ to be done while the manor occupants slept. Thankfully, the fact that lunch had just finished meant a fair amount of workers would be busy cleaning up the dining hall. In the end, you only passed one other servant, but it was the only one you hadn’t felt confident about running into: Daphne.

Despite your long-standing friendship (having known each other in the village, and being brought to the castle within the same week), you had yet to tell her about your relationship with Daniela. Which by itself wouldn’t have been too bad, if not for the fact that she could tell you were hiding something from her. This had, understandably, put a damper on your friendship. From her perspective, there was nothing you shouldn’t be able to tell her. Even you weren’t sure if you should be more honest, all things considered. There was no way she’d ever tell someone else about your situation. But if one day you got in trouble for lying to Lady Dimitrescu… and somehow someone figured out that Daphne knew too, well, she’d be just as fucked as you, if not more so. After all, there was a chance that Daniela’s affection for you would lead to a lighter punishment. Not that being exiled into the forest was much better than being flat out killed.

So when you saw Daphne heading towards you, you tried to get by with a simple smile and a brief wave.

“Aren’t you even going to say hi?” Daphne asked, tone stiff but filled with disappointment. It catches you off guard, to the point where you drop your note cards. Immediately you’re squatting down, gathering them up, taking the excuse not to look at your friend. She doesn’t move to assist, instead pausing in the hallway to watch you. “We were supposed to stick together, you know? But it’s like becoming Lady Daniela’s little plaything made you think you’re better than the rest of us. Better than me.” That last part was barely more than a whisper, and you freeze in place, hand still hovering over one of the cards. “I shouldn’t have said anything, it doesn’t matter. Just try not to get yourself killed, alright? I don’t want to be the one to clean up your corpse.”

“Daphne, wait, please!” You said, finally moving to your feet, blocking your friend’s path. When she looks at you, you can just barely make out tears in the corners of her soft blue eyes. “I’m sorry, really. I… I can’t tell you what’s going on because I can’t risk getting you in trouble. You’re my best friend, Daph, and I don’t want anything happening to you just because I was doing something reckless.”

“Do you really think I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you?” Daphne questioned, with a bitter laugh. She’s shaking her head in disbelief, even as you stare at her, shell shocked. “Maybe the others haven’t caught on yet, but I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and I’m not oblivious to the way you talk about her. I figured you’d tell me eventually… It’s been weeks, though. More than that, I mean seriously, don’t you think I’d go down for you in a heartbeat? There was a time where I was sure the two of us would do anything for each other, ride or die when the dying part was a guaranteed end to all of this. Something tells me that’s not the case anymore.” Now she refuses to meet your gaze, instead staring down at what few note cards still lay on the floor.

“That’s still the case, I promise. It’s hard enough to look past what our employers do to strangers. If they hurt you? I’d never dream of forgetting, let alone forgiving them,” you explained. It’s enough to make her look back up, but she’s far from smiling.

“If that’s the case, maybe I’m looking at the wrong signals. But I’ve got to go, and I assume you do too. Take care,” she said, before slipping past you as quickly as she can. Then you’re left to gather the last of your note cards, mind whirling. Cruel as the thought may be, you hoped that this wouldn’t ruin the mood for your date. The best your mind could do to cope was focus on one thing at a time…

————————————

“Are you sure this is safe? I can’t even remember how many times I’ve been told to keep this door shut, under the threat of, you know, losing my life,” you called out, hanging out in the doorway. Beyond you by a few meters was Daniela, who twirled about with laughter, reaching out to catch a few falling leaves. This was the entrance to the garden, as far as you could tell. Not to be confused with the vineyard, which was larger, as well as on a completely different side of the estate. You had never been to either, seeing as only a select few servants were allowed to leave the manor. If Daniela hadn’t made it seem like you’d be staying in the library, well, you probably would have protested a little, regardless of how badly you wanted to go on a real date. Even when you had met up with her, she hadn’t told you any details, just laughing and asking you to follow her.

“Don’t be a baby! We’re still a few weeks away from autumn, and besides, you’re here with me! What could possibly go wrong?” Daniela asked, sending you a cheeky grin before dashing off into the garden proper. For a moment you’re left on the threshold, a picnic basket in your arms, wondering what the season had to do with your safety. Then you sigh, figuring that it couldn’t be that bad. Hadn’t your girlfriend mentioned this to Bela, anyway? Certainly the responsible older sister would have stepped in if something genuinely dangerous had been suggested? Well, you hoped as much, at least. With that in mind you close the door behind you, then dashed towards where Daniela had gone. Even as you round the corner, you don’t see her, and suddenly you’re nervous as hell. Before you can call out to her, the sound of rustling leaves catches your attention. Suddenly something jumps out at you! “Rah! Gotcha, babe!”

Ah, of course it was your girlfriend, clearly pulling a leaf from Cassandra’s book. You playfully smack her arm in response, trying to ignore the way your heart pounded. Humorous intentions aside, she had legitimately scared you, and you had nearly dropped your basket in response. Before you can say as much, Daniela’s hooking her arm in yours so she can pull you further into the gardens.

“You’re lucky you’re so fucking cute, firefly,” you muttered, a tad grumpy now. Most of your irritation was false, however, intended to tease your girlfriend. For a moment she doesn’t seem to realize that, and she stops in place. Once her eyes meet yours she understands what’s going on. Then she’s grinning, sticking her tongue out at you, and continuing down the path. Soon enough you’re approaching a paved brick circle. All around it, minus where it meets the walkway, are various flowers in bloom. Past the flowers are bushes, and past those are trees, whose branches provide a canopy for the circle. “Wow… and I thought you were pretty,” you teased, admiring the view.

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Daniela lets out an offended scoff, before taking the basket from you. Wordlessly she opens it up to grab the blankets within, spreading them without sparing you a glance. Now it’s your turn to wonder whether or not her anger is just a joke. Hoping so, you help her smooth out the blankets, making sure the two of you have ample space to spread out. At one point both of you reach for the basket at the same time, and she just grabs your hand instead, squeezing it. Next thing you know she’s pulling you down onto the blankets, rolling on top of you.

“Come here often?” She asked. Then, unsurprisingly, the two of you kiss. Both of your arms wrap around her waist, holding her as close as you can. One of her hands cups your cheek, the other resting on the ground to support herself, for ‘optimal makeout angles’. It’s a minute of bliss before she has to pull back for air. Instead of pulling away entirely, she shifts down a notch, resting her head against your chest. “Mmm… so comfortable. I could just… fall… asleep…” Daniela murmured, pretending to be sleepy. You can’t help but laugh, chest obviously shaking in as you do. “No! Pillows aren’t supposed to vibrate.”

“Are you sure about that?” You asked, only laughing harder.

“They don’t talk, either,” Daniela replied, huffing as she does. When you keep laughing, she rises to a sitting position, much to your disappointment. “So you have chosen death? So be it. I’ll just eat these candies myself, then.” With that said, she digs into the picnic basket, retrieving a bag of chocolates. Pouting, you reach out to try and yoink one away from her. Rather deftly, she pulls them away, sticking her tongue out at you before tossing a couple in her mouth. Determined, you surge forward, trying to catch her off guard, only to (somehow) end up face down in her lap. “Exactly like I planned, songbird. Now get comfy, alright?”

One of her hands trails fingers through your hair as you semi-awkwardly roll over. Now you’re facing up, watching your girlfriend practically inhale a few pieces of chocolate. But now she seems more inclined to share. She plucks one more from the bag, offering it to you by holding it in front of your mouth. Gladly you open up, and she drops the chocolate, before giving you a small ‘boop’ on the nose. Both of you laugh, then, a sound that sparks warmth in your chest. This was… nice. Relaxing. Not only were the two of you allowed to be as open with your affection as you wanted, it was the first time in ages that you had actually been outside, able to enjoy the sunlight.

Several minutes pass by like this, with Daniela feeding you (and herself) candies, both of you taking time to appreciate the scenery. Eventually the bag of chocolates becomes close to empty, and you see your girlfriend have an ‘oh crap’ moment.

“I was going to save some of these for you to smuggle into your quarters, damn it… guess you’ll just have to refuse to share, babe,” she said, shrugging a little. Then she sets the bag aside, now devoting both of her hands to playing with your hair. “Guess I’ll just have to find something else to keep my tongue occupied. Know any volunteers?”

“Hmm… I would, but it’s reeeaaaaaallllllly comfortable down here,” you teased in reply. Suddenly her hands are taken out of your hair, and you can just barely see that they’re positioned on her hips. She’s pouting at you, very similar to how you’ve seen her mother do, yellow eyes betraying her mischief. What exactly did she have planned?

“Really, songbird? I take you out, give you a wonderful place to rest, hand feed you chocolates… and you won’t even kiss me? When was the last time you even got to do something like this?” She asked, perking an eyebrow. The question is innocent enough. The answer, however, is not. Even with your head in her lap, you cannot fight off the brief sense of panic as your mind flashes into the past. It takes a deep breath, a few blinks, and a reassuring touch from Daniela for you to calm back down. “Songbird?... Hey, hey, it’s okay, I didn’t- I don’t know what happened. But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, we can just…” She trails off, sounding unsure of herself, and you feel a pang of guilt. Was it finally time to come clean?... Yeah, yeah it was.

“It’s fine, I promise. I just… I need to sit up for this,” you explained, begrudgingly rising out of her lap. But she doesn’t let you pull away entirely, a hand guiding you to sit right up against her. Then she gently wraps an arm around you. Leaning into her touch, you rest your head on her shoulder, closing your eyes for a few seconds. “It’s kind of a long story, firefly… But this has happened often enough that I need to tell you. At least part of it. So, well… When I was younger, I, uh, I read a lot of romance novels, watched a lot of movies. Not even the good ones, really. And I didn’t- I couldn’t think through them. Couldn’t analyze it the way I needed to. So I didn’t get a good grasp of what a healthy relationship looked like. My, uh, my folks weren’t keen on demonstrating one for me, either…

“Before I came to the village, I was, well, uh, the thing is you might not like this part? And you’re not gonna like the next part, either. Just… listen to the end, please,” you pleaded, waiting for an acknowledgment before continuing. “I was engaged, as in to be married, to a woman I had known for most of my life. We were neighbors, and had gone to school together, and everyone thought we were the cutest couple. Hell, for the longest time I thought that. We weren’t, though. She was-” Daniela tenses a bit, though remains silent- “manipulative, sometimes aggressive. Anytime there was an argument, she made herself into the victim, told me that I was crazy. She wanted to make all the decisions about our relationship for me, and I just… I didn’t question it. Not even after she proposed, when my only reason for saying yes was because we were in public, with friends, and she clearly assumed that I’d agree. I tried to tell her that I wasn’t ready, that maybe we were going too fast, but she tuned me out.

“I didn’t even think about running until our final date. That was the first, and the only, time that she ever… that she ever-” a few tears spill from the corners of your eyes- “got physical with me. She’d broken things before, for sure, but I never thought she’d hurt me.” Daniela rubs your back gently, her breathing a little shaky. Evidently she hated hearing about this as much as you hated talking about it. Somehow that made it a little easier to talk through. “The next day she had to work early, so I just packed up my things, went over to my parents’ house and told them what happened. For once they actually agreed, if you can believe it. Told me to get the hell out of town, said that they’d deal with my fiance, and our relatives, so that I didn’t have to worry about anything when I came back. It was less than a full day before I drove away from everything I had ever known, promising my folks that someday I’d be back. Didn’t settle down until half the continent was behind me, not ‘til I was here at the village.”

There were a couple moments of silence as Daniela waited to make sure you had finished talking. Then she’s kissing the top of your head, shaking a little more noticeably now, murmuring reassurances that you can’t quite understand. Again you lean into her touch, indescribably thankful for her comforting presence. Fuck, you think, I probably ruined the date… so much for spending quality time with my lil firefly. When the silence breaks, it does so softly, slowly, a careful opening rather than a forceful push.

“Why would you give me a second chance? After what I did to you?” Daniela asked, voice barely audible, her head still resting atop yours. It’s not the response you expected. Not in the slightest. You pull away slightly, to look her in her eyes, heart aching at the tear stains on her cheeks. Even though you want to give her an answer that will bring her peace, your mind draws little more than a blank. Why had you given her a chance? You had wanted to be with her, without doubt, even before Cassandra and Bela intervened. Even after every time that she reminded you of your past…

“I-I don’t know. Maybe I haven’t learned anything from what’s happened,” you started, uncertainty clear in your tone. “Or maybe it’s because you looked… regretful. You didn’t enjoy what you did, and I saw it in your eyes. And… and then you did something about it. If you hadn’t shown remorse, or if I genuinely believed that you might do something like that again, we wouldn’t be here right now. I mean, in that case your sisters probably would have killed me for turning you down, but that’s not entirely relevant right now, is it?” You’re rambling a little, stuttering over your own words. Still, somehow it makes Daniela laugh, and relief floods your chest. Soon enough you’re curled up against her once more.

“Hey,” she said, after a minute of comfortable silence. “Thank you for showing me what romance is supposed to be.” Then she’s leaning in for a kiss, and you’re responding eagerly, unable to stop yourself from smiling. This time it’s your hand that runs through her hair as you pull her in as close as you can. To your surprise, she does pull away a tad earlier than usual. But there’s a grin on her lips, and she looks satisfied as hell. “Definitely more of that, soon. There’s just one more thing we have to do, to make this date perfect, you know? I may or may not have, kind of, written you something? You’re not allowed to laugh, though!”

“When have I ever laughed at you?” You asked, teasing, literally laughing as you speak. In response, Daniela scowls, making a point to look away in feign protest. “Joking, joking… I’ve just, you know, never had someone write me something before. Kinda don’t know how to react, really. Other than blushing real hard-” which you were doing- “and trying to play off my excitement with humor. But I promise I won’t laugh, even if you start with something like ‘roses are red, violets are blue’ or end with something like ‘just us in bed, doing the do’. Please tell me that’s not what you wrote, though?”

“Now that you mention it, maybe that should be what I recite. Sounds exactly like the sort of thing that would get me laid,” Daniela joked, rolling her eyes at you. Then she’s tugging a loose piece of paper out of the picnic basket, unfolding it to reveal a well-worn surface and hand-written text. She hesitates for a moment, glancing up at you, before taking a deep breath. When she speaks it’s clear just how nervous she is. But with every line she gains a measure of confidence, by the end acting her usual confident self.

Step from the shadows, weary corners of my mind Encased in old thoughts, brought into new life Like ashes rising from tombs housing the divine

Spinning webs as I descend, from the cradle of heaven From the dead I have risen, blessed be the gift I’m given Only from your haunting call do I embrace living

Catching the corners of my lips turning up All my years I’ve felt, but never this much Quietly writhing, begging for your softest touch

The pursuit of unintentional romance left abandoned Whispering love-locked tales to be consumed Sweeter than every facade I have ever imagined

Come closer now, into my arms, heart embraced Trailing fingers over scars, sewing lines traced Tell me love, “we shall last until the end of days”

At first, all you can do in response is stare at her, expression filled with affection. Inside your chest your heart was racing, and you couldn’t remember the last time you felt this warm. Reaching out, you take one of Daniela’s hands in your own, grinning as soon as her gaze meets yours. Both of you are blushing rather hard. Then she sets the poem down, eyes never leaving yours for even a second. You try to stutter out a few words, but find your tongue tied, and so you settle for placing your forehead against hers. The two of you stay like that for a few loving moments. When you part, it is only to come back together, this time in a tight hug.

“One helluva date, yeah?” Daniela asked, looking incredibly proud of herself. You can’t help but nod enthusiastically in response, honestly happier than you had felt in years. “Well, I will have to let you get back to work soon, unfortunately… but we have a few minutes, at least. Besides, having to part will only make tonight all the more sweeter.” At that you pause, confused, tilting your head to the side. Realizing that she must have gotten ahead of herself, Daniela blushes before elaborating. “You, me, my room. Tonight, right after your shift ends.”

You could hardly wait.

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #please tell me if the poem is any good #seriously pleaaaaaaseeeee #or just tell me what your favorite line from the whole chap is #that's always what I want to know #feedback wise

202 notes · View notes

letsdiscoverkitty · 3 years

Text

Home/Family Update - May 2021

I will take this right back to when I was discharged from the Priory in December. From there I moved back home with my parents; it was a bit of a difficult transition as I didn't have any home leave in the lead up to being discharged due to COVID and my consultant wanting me to make the most of my time on the ward. Add to that my EDP going completely awol, meaning that our whole 4 week pre-discharge meetings and relapse prevention plan went out the window. So yes it was a bit of a rocky start, and that is without you factoring in COVID lockdown/Christmas.

Being discharged from an IP setting is never easy no matter who you are; changes in environment and routine can throw you off track without you even realising it and I did find myself struggling with this. I also had the difficult navigation of adapting to coming home in terms of my dad and his recovery. For those who might not know, last March my dad fell down the stairs in the middle of the night the day that my parents arrived home after a month in NZ. He suffered 3 brain bleeds (a subdural, an extradural and a subarachnoid), multiple facial fractures and a break in his spine. That night was one of, if not THE, worst of my life. We were told that it was very likely that he would not survive and that if he did he would be in a vegetated state or not able to take care of himself...we were told to prepare for the worst. By some MIRACLE he defied all the odds and at the age of 74 after spending 11 or so days on the ICU, a further 2 weeks on a trauma ward and then another 3 months in a neuro rehab, he was discharged home and is now, a year on from the accident, completely independent, no sign of further brain bleeds and is actually much fitter than he has been for, well, 50 years! Honestly, we never expected anything like this sort of recovery and from an outside perspective he is doing perfectly. However, there are things that will never be the same again and I don't think it is until you are with someone 24/7 that you are able to tell. He has changed quite a bit as a person; in some ways this is a good thing but in other ways it is not so. He cannot deal with changes in environment or routine; even things like having the bread on the side instead of in the bread bin completely throws him off and he doesn't even register that the bread is there. He gets very easily agitated, can be extremely rude and a little aggressive. Now some of this was already there (a lot of it was) but it has become more acutely obvious since the head injury. I have SO much respect and love for my mum - I really dont know how she has held herself up over the past 2 years, as well as helping dad when he was initially transitioning home (I was still in hospital but it sounded like he needed a lot of help for the first few months - which I only saw an inch of when they were able to visit me in hospital (he used to wander off and didn't know where he was etc. which is thankfully no longer and issue!)).

This is hard for me to say but I will admit that I have struggled more than I thought I would with being around him; in short I pretty much went through the whole mourning process whilst I was in hospital as the last time i saw him on the trauma ward before they stopped all visits and before I was admitted, he didn't know who I was...He thought he lived in another country and was telling me all sorts of stories that were fabricated, before telling me that he needed to go and pick up the mercedes and drive to sainsburys to get the Gin and petrol (we don't have a mercedes and he doesn't even like gin!) Anyway, I digress. So yes, I basically mourned for someone who was still alive physically but mentally had changed as at the time I didn't know whether he would be in a vegetated state or make a good recovery. Thankfully we are on the good side and he is doing so incredibly well but the bottom line is that he is different and living with him, at the age of 26, is HARD. We have good days and bad days (as any young adult who lives with their parents does) and there are many many days that I wish I wasn't living at home but I do my best to hold myself together during those times, especially for my mum because she, I tell you, is absolutely incredible. How she has put up with him for so long I honestly do not know!

Talking of mum, I would say that since the whole accident with dad, we have become a LOT closer. We really had to lean on each other over that month; we were driving down to Brighton every single day to see dad on the ICU and on the Trauma ward until we were stopped from visiting - it was mentally and physically exhausting for the both of us, especially as we were still barely processing the trauma and struggling with flashbacks in the night. We were the first ones on the scene of the accident (if it weren't for mum's medical training, dad would not be alive today). Of course we still have our moments but I feel like our relationship almost "levelled up and matured over the past year. We have bonded over being in nature and walking (because what else can you do when the country is in lockdown!?! but also because we have always been an "outdoors" family (well my mum, Andi and me have))- we also talk about dad and the accident quite a bit too, which has helped me beyond belief (and her too). We give each other space, and yes there are days when we dont get on but who doesn't have days when they dont?

On balance I would say that home is "okay". It is manageable. No the environment is not perfect and I do find it affects my mental health quite a bit and holds me back in some ways (I cannot wait to be able to move out one day) but I am incredibly grateful to have parents that are willing to and can afford to take me under their roof and help me out during this time.

Gosh, this has already ended up so much longer than I thought it would, I am sorry! In short: home life is okay. We are here and that is the most important thing. We saw Andi a two-ish weeks ago as we were in Cornwall for our usual time-share (we were so lucky that Boris allowed self catering two weeks before our usual time share week) - I think it was good for them to get out of their flat as I don't think they had left the small area where they live since last September when we went down to Cornwall (I was given leave for a week as it was sold to my consultant to help my dad's recovery, which is definitely did but yes we did pull the right strings to get that one!)

Anyway, I shall leave this update here and start the mammoth task of the next one. I am sorry that this is taking me so long, it's quite hard to write and think back and reflect (although actually quite helpful for me to do) so I do find that I have to come back to it a few times. Please stick with me x

-----

I forgot to add that dad had an assessment before we went away to Cornwall to see whether he can have his driving license back and (as mum and I predicted) he failed. To say that he did not take it well would be putting it lightly!!! I am actually ashamed of the way that he behaved and the things that he said/the reasons he fabricated as to why he had failed (let's just say he got sexist and rude - which I have ZERO time for and was appalled by him - I am so glad I was not with him/mum after the assessment as I would have blown my fuse at hime). He could not even entertain the idea that he had failed. He blamed everything/anything else that he could - even saying that it was the system and one of the first things he said to me was "I understand now, I've worked it out, it's the system, they aren't allowed to pass many people first time so that's it", which I just *speechless*. Mum and I have talked about it a lot and we don't think that he has ever "failed" at anything in his life. He also believes that he is 10000%. fixed and has no issues or problems and doesn't need any support or guidance. He refuses to listen to mum and I when we try to tell him about how unwell he was, he refuses to believe it and won't take it. One thing that mum and I are very glad of is that all of this driving stuff is OUTSIDE of the family. He can't put it on us. It is coming from an external place and we can support him if he lets us but that is his decision as to whether he lets us or not. He has never been a good patient; and he also won't take any advice (in anything) from mum or let her be right about something either, which is just sad, really sad. This is not a new thing, it has always been this way. And the more I reflect on our family/have reflected over the past year with dad in hospital, the more I see that I don't like. The way dad has behaved and treated mum, how he was always missing in my childhood, how alcohol always came above family, how old fashioned and unwilling to learn he is, how distant and uninterested he was, how he never says please or thank you, never asks how anyone is and refuses to talk about mental health (yep, despite so much going on in our family with mental illnesses, he refuses to talk about it and won't even ask "how are you?" or offer support etc)...I don't mean to be so negative about him, I really don't. I love him, he is my dad, but there is a lot of healing that needs to be done, and it is going to take time.

#personal #update

20 notes · View notes

seasonofthegeek · 4 years

Text

Drift Away

Parts 1, 2:

Kirishima felt something light touch his skin for the first time in hundreds of years and he hardened on reflex, dry flesh cracking and tearing as he did. His eyesight had gone to hell from lack of blood ages ago, but he could still make out a tiny dark spot on his forearm.

Was that a bug?

He hadn’t seen a bug in…

The cobwebs in his mind began to fall away as his thoughts churned in a way they hadn’t in far too long. The cottage had been magicked by his sire to keep anyone and anything out while she was gone. Nothing could get in, not even bugs, but here one sat, seemingly uninterested and unimpressed by the broken skin of its perch softening once more.

He tried to swallow in an effort to speak but his mouth and throat were parched beyond repair without outside help. Kirishima sighed inwardly and tried to content himself with watching the fuzzy bit of dark color move along his arm until it blended in with his scorched hand.

Anger blazed up inside his chest and it was a welcome feeling. He’d been abandoned here, abandoned and forced not to use his hardening so that he was hurt when the sun finally found its way into his hiding place. He was starved and lonely and damaged and the pieces were starting to fall into place.

His sire’s magic around the cottage had fallen.

Her command for him not to use his hardening was no longer in effect.

She was gone.

He let that thought sink in and wondered how to feel about it. He’d spent lifetimes tethered to her side, watched generations of his family come and go from afar. He should feel bereft, but…

All Kirishima could feel was relief.

Even if he was still stuck here until the sun finally exploded and burned the world, at least the apprehension of her return was finally gone.

He was free and that was enough.

___

Bakugo cursed as his machete got caught on another thick vine. He was seven months into his hunt for the vampire council and his time was quickly running out. This was the last lead he’d been able to pick up on and if there was no one in the little cottage in the secluded forest, he was going to call it quits.

That would give him three months to make a plan to escape ever being found by the council for the rest of his existence. It wouldn’t be easy, but he could do it. Of course, it’d be much easier to just be able to hand over the vampire they wanted and not have to look over his shoulder forever.

He was following the overgrown trail the best he could and knew he was on the right path even if it did appear that no one had been this way in ages. He recognized a few stone markers with his sire’s sigil on them, but the magic had faded away when she did. He vaguely wondered how many hapless victims had stumbled upon the trail and been killed instantly through the years.

The sun would be up in a couple of hours, but he should be able to make it to the cottage by then. And he would either finally find his bounty or use the place to hide out for the day and then start his new life on the run.

The sky was beginning to lighten with the first signs of morning by the time Bakugo entered the weed-filled dirt patch where the decrepit cottage sat, and his instincts were screaming at him to find shelter. He sneered at the warped boards and long-faded paint and the nature that had grown up around the building. It looked entirely uninhabited.

“Another fucking dead end.”

He glanced up at the sky and saw the telltale pink of the rising sun. With a growl, he stomped up the few broken steps and tested the door. It was locked as he expected and he rammed his shoulder against in with a grunt, stumbling as the rotting wood easily gave way.

His eyes adjusted to the dark interior almost immediately and he took in his surroundings, abruptly stopping on the shadowy figure sat at the table against the far wall.

“Oi, you Kirishima?”

There was a raspy sound but no other reply. Bakugo’s nerves stood on end and he felt tiny pops starting to go off in the palms of his hands. He held his fists tight and took another tentative step forward.

“Say something or I’m going to blow you sky high,” he warned as he held out a hand, warm orange light radiating from it.

Once again, there was a rasping sound but no words.

He narrowed his eyes and took a couple of work steps forward and felt his throat close up on the sight before him. “Holy shit…” he murmured. “Are you…you still alive?”

While the cottage was musty from being closed up for so long, there was no scent of decay on the air. Bakugo took a closer look at the body seated before him. It was skeletal, waxy skin stretched over bones in a very unhealthy way. There were tears along the skin in places, but no blood was left to leak from them or even dry at the wound. Dark hair hung long and limp around a gaunt face where two cloudy eyes attempted to watch him as cracked lips struggled to make a sound.

“What the hell did she do to you?” he whispered, moving even closer. “You are Kirishima, yeah? Eijiro Kirishima?”

The eyes moved as if trying to track his voice, but it was obvious the vampire was blind.

“Okay, stare straight ahead if you’re Kirishima but look to the side if you aren’t.”

There was a hesitant pause and then the vampire was looking straight at Bakugo.

“Okay, good to know then.” He turned back to see the sun dripping beams of light into the open door and he hurried across the small space to slam the door shut. When he realized light was still filtering in, he looked up and spotted the hole in the ceiling just above the charred hand that sat helpless on the table. He swore under his breath.

“Gonna move you. Probably gonna hurt like hell but no reason to keep you burning now that I’m here.”

Kirishima made unintelligible sounds of pain as he was lifted and taken to the dust-covered bed in the corner. His body stayed in the stiff sitting position he’d been left in and Bakugo sighed loudly as he rolled him on his side in an effort to help make him more comfortable.

“It’s gonna take you a while to recover, looks like. When it’s night, I’ll go out and get us some fresh blood, but these bags are gonna have to do for now.”

He dropped his traveling bag off his shoulders and let it thunk on the floor. He knelt down to rifle through it until he brought out medical grade blood bags, one in each hand. He nicked the corner of one with his fang and began to suck at the liquid, grimacing at the stale taste. He’d been able to feed from a jogger in town the night before so he was thankfully doing well on blood, but no way was he about to take on a starved vampire not at full strength.

There was a wretched keening from the bed and Bakugo knew Kirishima could smell the blood.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting to you. Don’t worry,” he muttered. He finished his own bag first, ignoring the other vampire, and then finally stood and took the other bag to the bed. He waffled with it for a moment before using his own fang to tear that bag as well.

“Gonna roll you on your back. Try not to choke or let too much run out, yeah?”

He did as he said and there was a creaking sound from the body as if Kirishima was trying to move. Bakugo rolled his eyes and brought the open end of the bag to the other vampire’s mouth. He let the blood trickle in little by little, pausing to let the half-open mouth drain of blood before he poured more in. There was still very little movement from Kirishima but that was to be expected. It was going to take a lot more blood for him to be functional and Bakugo had no plans of trekking all the way back without this guy using his own two feet.

He thought about trying to send word to the council that he’d found the vampire they wanted in case it took longer than the time he had left but he’d save that errand for another day.

The bag was drained and Kirishima was still grunting like a hungry baby but Bakugo was exhausted.

“Let that settle,” he said gruffly. “Gonna sleep for a bit and then we’ll try some more.”

He ignored the pitiful groan from the sickly man and went to the threadbare couch. It would be a quick nap. The faster this was over, the faster he could get on with his life.

___

Bakugo hated disposing of dead bodies but he’d grossly underestimated how fast Kirishima would be able to drain the man he’d brought to the small cabin and was now left with the undesirable task. He’d meant to pull the man away with just enough left in him to survive with medical care, but Kirishima had latched on and refused to let go. What’s done was done. He hefted the heavy weight of the lifeless man on his shoulder and moved further into the woods. He wouldn’t bother with burying their victim, but he wanted to get the remains far enough away that the stink of decay didn’t reach the cabin.

Kirishima passed out after the feeding, but he could at least lie flat now, the blood working through his body little by little to ease the stuck joints. Bakugo tried not to dwell on how long he’d been left to sit in that chair because it made his own body ache. The Countess had not been a kind sire in the least, and he’d experienced that on more than one occasion.

He tried not to think on it too hard though. After all, he doubted the council had anything good planned for Kirishima. They’d likely run tests on him to see if his ability to walk in the sun could be transferred by blood. And if it could? Best case scenario, they’d keep him hooked up to a machine the rest of his existence, feeding him just enough blood for them to be able to take it right back. His sire had learned her tricks on getting powers for herself from the highest member of the council after all.

That did make him wonder why she hadn’t just taken Kirishima’s power for herself to begin with. Maybe they were alike. She hadn’t been able to take Bakugo’s explosions from him either. Her body couldn’t produce sweat so it wasn’t a compatible transfer. He ground his teeth together at the memory of that day; he’d been sure he would die from the beating she gave him.

And then she’d nursed him back to health sweetly and gently as if nothing had ever happened.

Fucking psycho.

He finally came to the edge of a steep cliff and shrugged the body off of his shoulder, watching passively as it tumbled down and disappeared into the tangled overgrowth below. “Wrong time, wrong place,” he muttered as if it were some kind of apology and turned to head back to the cabin.

The walk back seemed shorter, most likely due to his lack of burden. Bakugo did a precursory circuit around the cabin to make sure he didn’t smell anything out of the ordinary, but all seemed fine.

“You’re…back,” Kirishima croaked, eyes heavy as he watched Bakugo close the cabin door.

“Didn’t expect you to be awake.”

“No…sleep.” His voice was low and raspy from disuse and his words were disjointed. His brow furrowed as if his speech frustrated him. “Tired…no.”

Bakugo took a seat in the rocking chair near the bed, just out of arm’s reach of the prone vampire. “You trying to say you’re not tired?” he asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Light filled Kirishima’s eyes as they widened slightly. His cracked lips pulled up at the corners and he hummed.

“Too bad. You have to sleep to get better.”

If Bakugo didn’t know any better, he’d think the older vampire was pouting by the expression his reply received.

“I’m not going to fucking read you a bedtime story if that’s what you’re wanting,” he added. “I’ve got to get you better so I can trade your life for mine, yeah? That’s all this is.”

Kirishima’s gaunt jaw clenched and he closed his eyes, partly turning his face away.

“Yeah, yeah, point made. You don’t like me.”

Bakugo wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much that there was no denial from Kirishima.

Buy me a cherry coke?

#kiribaku #vampire au #eijiro kirishima #katsuki bakugo #bnha #my hero academia

26 notes · View notes

stranger-who-writes-fiction · 5 years

Text

People: Be the change you want to see in the world. My brain: ...Guess this means I gotta make more gen Red Daughter content.

...

“Keep a low profile.”

Eve’s voice was slightly distorted--flat and far away through the burner phone she had provided. The condescension and disdain, however, was readily apparent, in spite of the poor connection.

"Low profile,” she parroted back, slow and deliberate.

“I’m not falling for that again,” Eve huffed on the other end of the line. “I know you know what it means.”

She smirked. “No, please. I require another poorly articulated explanation.”

At which point Eve hung up.

She did not put the phone in her pocket right away. Instead, she waited, eyeing the screen expectantly.

один, два...

She didn’t even get to three before the phone began to buzz, announcing a text message.

Or, rather, a string of text messages, many of which contained words unfit for polite conversation, conveniently in Russian, so that she’s be able to fully appreciate them.

The final text contained the instructions Eve had failed to give her, thanks to her abrupt and somewhat petty closing to their phone conversation.

Wait for my call. Don’t leave the park, and don’t do anything stupid.

She replied to Eve’s message with the small, smiling yellow face wearing a halo, and pocketed the phone, uninterested in whatever string of curses or irate yellow faces Eve was no doubt in the process of sending. She ignored the buzzing in her jacket and moved to a small, isolated bench along one of the paths in the park.

It was overcast, and fairly breezy. She didn’t mind the weather, of course--she barely felt the chill in the air--but it seemed to put off the residents of National City. There were only a handful of people making use of the walking trails, and the athletic fields were basically deserted.

She pulled the brim of her cap lower and sat back on the bench, tentatively expanding the scope of her hearing. She hadn’t done that much, since Kaznia. She didn’t like the intrusive sounds of the city, beyond the green boundaries of the park.

There were no gunshots, at least. ...For the present, anyway.

She tried to focus on the scant bird calls, and gentle rustling of leaves. A nearby creek provided a nice distraction, as she listened to the water make its gradual, winding way through reeds and over rocks. Occasionally, someone would jog close to the creek’s edge, and she’d pick up broken bits of conversation. She didn’t mind; she let the words fade into a meaningless jumble, not even bothering to translate.

But the sudden, high peel of childish laughter caught her off guard. She stiffened, thoughts turning traitorously to Mikhail, and an afternoon spent listening to his breathless retelling of a lunchtime relay race at school.

She shook her head, willing the memories away. Focus on the water again, she told herself sternly. Focus on--

Something brushed against her leg, startling her. She looked down, curious.

A familiar black and white pattern greeted her, and set her teeth on edge.

She lurched forward on the bench, hands gripping the wood so tightly that it splintered. Her frantic gaze swept the park. This had to be...some kind of trick. A cruel, terrible trick...perhaps Eve, getting back at her...?

But she didn’t see Eve. In fact, the park was just as empty as it had been a few minutes ago. So...who...?

“There it is!”

“I see it, I see it!”

A trio of children rounded the bend in the path, but only one of them moved to come collect the ball; the other two--they looked like they were a bit younger--came to an abrupt stop as soon as they saw her and hung back, clearly shy.

This did not deter the oldest girl, though.

“Sorry about our ball!” she said it in a rush, with something of a perfunctory air. The girl stooped to grab the ball--still at her own boot-clad feet--and seemed to be in the process of apologizing once more for good measure. “We didn’t mean to--” The girl’s eyes met her own, and her sentence tapered off.

They stared at each other for several long seconds, neither of them saying anything.

And then, rather suddenly, the girl turned on her heel and ran back to the other children, barely skidding to a halt before starting to whisper excitedly.

She ignored them and pulled her cap even lower, eyeing the damage to the bench. She wondered if Eve would consider the splintered wood ‘something stupid.’

“It’s her!”

“Nuh-uh.”

“It is!”

“Is not! She’s not wearing a skirt!”

The children continued their bickering, which was their business. But she didn’t like how they kept glancing back in her direction. She could imagine it: one of them rushing off to alert their parent about the suspicious-looking stranger on the park bench.

There were several ways to deal with that, of course. Most of which definitely would fall under the ‘doing something stupid’ category that Eve had expressly forbidden.

She stood to leave the park. It was the lesser of two evils, in this case.

“Um!”

She glanced over her shoulder. It was the girl, the one with the football.

Ignore her. It was the obvious choice.

And yet. Her feet stalled.

“I was telling my brother--that’s my brother, over there,” she pointed at one of the other children. Specifically, the one who was attempting to hide a shy, nervous smile by ducking behind the third child; a girl who looked a little older than the boy, but younger than the first girl. “And my brother’s friend--that’s my brother’s friend, right there--I was telling them that you look just like Supergirl, and I thought...maybe it’s because you are Supergirl, but my brother says you’re not, because you’re not wearing a cape or a skirt or anything, but then I said that you were probably just washing it, because it got dirty or something, and then--”

“I am not her.” She cut the girl off, the words sounding more stern than she’d intended.

“...Oh,” the girl said, shoulders sagging with disappointment. “Well. Okay. Sorry, um. Thank you.”

And as the girl turned to go, she felt...badly. That she had been so blunt. She wanted to leave, yes. And maintain her cover.

But she didn’t want to...hurt a child’s feelings.

“You...” the words started tumbling out before she could think better of it, “you like...football?”

Now it was the girl who glanced back over her shoulder, caught off guard by the unexpected question.

“What?”

She pointed to the black and white ball in the girl’s arms. “That’s not a football,” the girl said.

“It’s a soccer ball!” the girl’s brother spoke up helpfully.

She offered a grateful smile. “Ah, right. Soccer. Thank you.”

Her reply sent the boy giggling and hiding behind his friend once more.

“Me and Emma are pretty good, but Jack won’t quit touching the ball,” the oldest girl explained, glaring at her brother. “That’s against the rules Jack.”

Jack stuck his tongue out in response.

“You wanna see how good we are at passes?”

And though it was probably very ill-advised, to stay and risk drawing attention to herself, or blowing her cover, she found herself agreeing, moving to stand at the edge of one of the fields, and watched as the three kicked the ball back and forth.

(Well. Two, mostly. Jack spent most of his time either running between the two girls, or sitting and picking at the dandelions growing in the grass.)

As she watched, she had to admit that they were very good at passes.

“I’m gonna kick it really hard this time!”

“Okay!”

At the oldest girl’s warning, Jack and Emma ran further down the field in an attempt to receive the pass. They almost had it, but the kick was solid, and the ball sailed right past them.

She reacted without thinking, planting herself in the path of the ball, allowing it to thump against her collarbone and drop to her waiting foot, where it sat, balanced, until she flicked it upwards, bouncing it off her thigh, back to her foot, and then her thigh again.

“...Whoa,” she heard Emma breathe. By now, all three of them had run over, and were watching her closely with wide eyes.

She smiled, and let the ball finally drop to the grass. She nudged it back to the trio.

“You’re good,” the girl said with obvious appreciation.

“I had a good teacher,” she replied truthfully.

“Can you show us how to do that?”

She hesitated.

Could she?

“...I can try,” she offered, which seemed agreeable to the three of them.

And that was how she found herself reciting Mikhail’s patient, thorough instructions to her three new acquaintances, smiling at each success, and diligently working through each setback. (Of which there were many, particularly in Jack’s case.)

“I think I got it!” the oldest girl declared, proudly (if somewhat unsteadily) balancing the ball on her foot. She mimicked the kind of flicking motion, and sent the ball upwards.

It didn’t have enough momentum to get too far, and when it landed on her thigh, it rolled and fell to the ground, instead of bouncing.

“That was very good,” she told the girl, who didn’t look a bit put-off by the lack of bounce. “If you practice, it will be even better.”

“Yeah!” she enthusiastically agreed. She was about to attempt it again, but they were interrupted by a sudden call.

“Okay kids, pack it in! We’re going home!”

The groans of protest were loud and long.

“If you aren’t all in the car by the time I count to ten, you’re gonna lose some privileges! One!”

“We gotta go,” the oldest girl explained as Emma and Jack ran towards the source of the shout. “Thanks for teaching us and stuff! I’m Mia, by the way. What’s your name?”

Mia gazed at her expectantly, football tucked under one arm.

She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. She had no name to give.

There was Linda, she supposed. But that was a lie...and she didn’t want to lie. Not to children.

Kara Zor-El?

...Maybe...

“Mia!”

“I’m coming!” Mia yelled. “I really gotta go,” she said, starting towards the other end of the field. “Bye!”

“It’s--” she called after Mia. The girl paused, and turned. “...Supergirl.”

Mia stared for a moment, mouth slightly agape, before a broad, delighted grin displaced her shock.

“Ohmygosh, I knew it! I knew you were Supergirl! I told Jack--”

She brought a finger up to her mouth--a fairly universal sign for shhhh and keep this a secret.

Mia seemed to understand, nodding her head earnestly.

“...But I can tell Jack and Emma, right?”

She considered this for a moment.

“...Yes.”

“YES! Thanks Supergirl! Bye, Supergirl!”

She waved as Mia ran off, excitedly yelling at Jack and Emma. For her part, Mia did not shout the secret out across the soccer field. Not that it would matter if she did. As soon as the children were turned away, and she was sure no one was watching, she took off, moving at a speed that made her imperceptible to the human eye. Any claims of having played soccer with Supergirl would be chalked up to childish imagination.

She touched down several miles away, and sent a brief text updating Eve as to her location.

Many angry yellow faces followed.

Nevertheless, Eve arrived some time later in a nondescript SUV, scowling as she unlocked the passenger side door.

“What did I say?” she snapped. “I said stay in the park. I said don’t do anything stupid.”

“I didn’t do anything stupid,” she said with a shrug and climbed into the car.

“Oh? What do you call this, then?” Even wanted to know as she turned her attention to the road.

She thought of Mikhail. Of learning games, and listening to stories...and how she had shared those things with the children here, in National City.

“...Fun,” she decided, marveling at her own answer. “...I call it. Fun.”

Notes:

- I have no idea when this would take place in the show timeline. B/c I imagine those kids wouldn’t be too keen on talking to Supergirl after she burned down the White House? - Speaking of. Don’t talk to strangers. Even if they look exactly like Supergirl. - The Russian was provided by Google, so there’s a good chance it’s wrong. Apologies. - That apology extends to any errors in the English portion as well.

#stranger writes #supergirl fic #red daughter kara #long post

65 notes · View notes

xenosgirlvents · 5 years

Text

Perdition’s Flame - Review

So here’s a quick tidbit about me: I really like horror of a specific bent. I’m not a fan of gore really, I find it lacks punch, but creeping dread, unsettling atompsheres, subtle horror is a genre I truly, truly enjoy.

So this is the first of the Warhammer Horror audio dramas I listened to and, personally, I feel like an audio drama is actually a pretty effective way of conveying horror. I’ve often found that any amount of frightening imagery can be handled by simply muting a video, robbing it of impact. But listening to something frightening even with now images often unsettles me.

So how is Perdition’s Flame? Well since these are beginning to get wordy I’m going to use a spoiler bar and write about it below. Further I’ll try to be a bit more systematic in my thoughts since this might help some people choose if they do or do not want it. That being said I don’t pretend to be ranking quality here with this only my personal position on how enjoyable I think it will be and to whom.

Perdition’s Flame: A disgraced Vostroyan Imperial Guardsman huddles, alone and freezing, against a dark storm. Desperate for a chance to redeem himself, he grasps at any hope for peace. But in the Dark Millennium, the Gods offer nothing but horror…

Plot: Perdition’s Flame has a fairly succint and tight plot which works in it’s favour. Largely set upon a single vessel and dealing with a rather small timeframe the story doesn’t really drag or plod or have unneccessary sequences barring the introductory framing device and the concluding framing device, both set some time after the actual events of the story.

The story also largely focuses on just two characters, Officer Brandon and her companion the prisoner Vostroyan Vosk (the protagonist). This tight focuses helps us get to know both characters and invest them to an extent. I often find in short audio dramas it is important to have a small cast as a large cast often simply reduces the characters into very unmemorable individuals.

The short of the story is largely that an assault forces Captain Brandon and Vosk to work together to try to stop a series of supernatural phenomena dooming the prison ship they are on, connected to some mysterious cargo an Inquisitor has brought aboard the vessel. The story actually has a not bad bait-and-switch concerning the actual ‘horror’ with the obvious candidate of Chaos ultimately not being as obvious as it first appears.

So how is the horror then, seeing as this is a horror story? It’s not bad...but I’d stop short of calling it amazing. There is one or two early cases of genuinely pretty unsettling scenes, which I enjoyed, but the story’s ‘horror’ transforms into a more visceral ‘zombie hoard’ style of horror by the halfway point which I just never really find very interesting or frightening. The horror, thus, is mostly contained to the first half after which it’s more just like a monster story with little in the way of dread and more just very instinctive ‘this monster will eat me if I don’t shoot it’ fear.

Whilst the plot is middling to good I must admit the end is just to me flat. I know it’s pretty standard for horror stories to feel the end to finish on a very depressing note but in this story that depressing note seems to undermine the primary theme of the entire story. So for this reason I personally feel the ending doesn’t work and undermines the theme of the story.

Characters: There are really only 3 characters who need to be discussed; Brandon, Vosk and Inquisitor Herrin. Without a doubt, for myself, Brandon shines through as the most engaging characer. A Captain of the Praetorian Guard Astra Militarum Regiment she has the most agency in the story by far, her actions largely being the only proactive ones that drive the plot forwards. The story also, despite introducing her as a hardass, shies away from making her a vindictive brute as many Imperial ‘hardasses’ are portrayed as being. Indeed I greatly enjoyed that she directly questions and defies the authority of the Inquisition when it endangers the lives of everyone onboard the vessel.

(On a seperate note just how casually both Brandon and her superior do question and defy Inquisitor Herrin is...perhaps a little questionable? Considering the aura of menance the Inquisition is normally afforded in 40k the fact that a ship’s Captain seems to have almost no fear mouthing off to an Inquisitor and demanding she jettison her cargo is perhaps a little uncharacteristic.)

Vosk is our protagonist and, if I must be honest, the most exogenous of the characters. He isn’t bad, per say, he just isn’t particularly interesting or well-integrated. For example one would think specifying he was a deserter would be part of the theme of the story or important to it but, in actuality, it really is irrelevant. It isn’t worked in as part of the plot really. Indeed, if anything, the primary theme of the story probably means him being imprisoned for being an atheist, or a heretic, would have worked better. Regardless Vosk isn’t a bad character he’s just a rather dull one. He very much serves ONLY as a vessel for narration and I feel often that if you’re doing an audio drama having a character who’s just there for narration is a waste as the audio drama already provides that.

Inquisitor Herrin then is, I suppose, the closest to an antagonist in the story. There is little given on her beyond her being an Inquisitor of the Ordo Chronos and, well, she is a problem. Unlike Vosk her problem is not that she is uninteresting just...the story makes her come across as an idiot. This is a problem considering she is meant to be an Inquisitor and there is already a small tendency of Inquisitors being reflected as idiots at times in stories. To her credit she doesn’t fall into the common narrative trap of being a bloodthirsty idiot, as many Inquisitors are shown to be, just one with seemingly poor grasp of reality. She is consistently presented with evidence that she, and everyone else, onboard the vessel is about to die...but seems to take no action to stop this? Even hinder some of Brandon and Vosk’s actions and insist that everything will be fine if everyone ‘does their jobs’ even though it is made painfully clear that everyone is dying en masse.

Part of this maybe comes down to a poor job of conveying her meaning at the end. In her final sequence, when her ‘special cargo’ is broken open she babbles a bit about some vague indication that she could have prevented something but...the story doesn’t make clear if she actually means she was about to solve the problem or just refering to a smaller, different issue related to her cargo. Either way it would perhaps have been better to replace her with an Inquisitorial Acolyte delivering the cargo for their Mistress or Master and thus more easily excuse their incompetence.

That, or, considering how ridiculously significant the cargo turns out to be, I have no idea why a random prison ship is being used as a transport and not an Inquisitorial Vessel or a Blackship.

Sound Direction: As always the sound direction and voice acting is great. Grace Andrew’s Brandon is particularly fun but even Vosk’s Vostroyan accent is a delight to hear. There is good use made of ambient noise at quite a few stages in order to help give the story a more grounded feel. The only part where I think this ambient sound becomes a bit silly is a sequence near the end where a laugh track from Brandon seems to play on repeat for a few good minutes and sounds incredibly robotic and unconvincing after the first few times.

I must draw special attention, though, to the use of distorted voice for the ‘horror’ at the end. As much as I feel the ‘horror’ lacks punch at the end the voice given to it is superb and very well-done!

Theme: Despite the name, the reference to fire, the protagonist’s main trait, redemption, damnation, perdition are not really the themes of the story. The primary focus is more on faith, as hope, in a dark situation. Throughout the story the cast are confronted by a ‘dark reality’ they have not encountered before and which now shakes their faith and their hope. Brandon, the character of agency, is defined by her constant working to save them even in the face of hopelessness, whilst for Vosk his primary motivation is an all-consuming desire to escape and run away from the things he’s now seen.

The conclusion, though, is an event which Brandon interprets as a ‘miracle’, evidence that there is hope, via faith, for them, that they are not left in a hopeless situation. Though Vosk does not share her thoughts on this ‘miracle’ he comes to see Brandon as representing that hope for him, stressing his desire to ‘live on’ is purely because he doesn’t want Brandon, who saved him, to have done so in vain. Finding something to believe in, despite a seemingly grim outlook, is the stronger theme to me.

Which is part of why the ending, which basically invalidates this, falls flat in my opinion. It’s one thing to have a cruel twist ending, it’s another to build a theme throughout a story and then just pull it out from under the audience at the end and go ‘silly rabbit hope is for kids!’

Conclusion: Perdition’s Flame is okay. Certainly better than Killshot and the Devil You Know. It is not amazing or incredible but it just manages to coast by enough that though I would not be enthused to listen to it again I would not never do so as with Killshot and Devil You Know. It manages to just about break average or slightly above average. I can’t recommend it as a story I think anyone needs to listen to but I can say that if you are bored give it a try.

#warhammer #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #inquisition #astra militarum #imperial guard #vostroyan firstborn #legion of the damned #chaos #lost and the damned #audio drama #review #warhammer horror #black library

11 notes · View notes

dontstopbereaving · 6 years

Text

I don’t have a story

The podcast I co-host got sponsored by a new-wave bra company that champions body positivity and body diversity, and as part of our advertising agreement I had to order a bra from them. I was very interested and excited in this, because bra shopping has more or less been a non-question for me. Blessed with what would probably be a 36AA if such a bra was ever manufactured — I am wide and flat and should have been a swimmer, probably — the adolescent horror and thrill of suddenly having boobs to manage and shop for has never really been on the table. I remember so vividly, the summer between my freshman and sophomore year, staying with an old friend from middle school and hanging out in her bedroom. She was lying on her bed and reading a magazine and said, apropos of nothing, "ugh, don't you hate it when your boobs slide down to your armpits when you're reading?" I nodded, having no idea what she was talking about.

Anyway, this bra company didn't carry a 36AA, but after taking a quiz about what $68 expertly engineered bra would be perfect for me, I ordered whatever they recommended. It arrived wrapped in delicate pink tissue paper, and I took it out and held it up and felt my heart sink. I knew from looking at it that it would look ridiculous on me; trying it on confirmed that. They had a number to call where you could talk to a "fit specialist" and of course I did that, and some nice girl in the Bay Area told me that if that bra didn't fit me, they had a selection of leisurewear bralettes.

But I don't want a bralette, dammit! I am not a tween, and though they aren't much to write home about I do have breasts that must be managed. This company's advertising seems to trumpet the arrival of a "bra for every woman," and even within their progressive spectrum of what that means, I fell on the outside of it. The whole process carried a lot more gravity than I expected.

The bra arrived in the heat of the Brett Kavanaugh confirmation firestorm, which had me on edge and moody all week for both the obvious reasons and reasons that I was more confused about articulating, or whether or not I should. The prospect of an attempted rapist and alcoholic being given a post in the highest court in the land is the most harrowing and torturous chapter of the MeToo world we now live in, and the stories from my friend and peers and people I don't know but follow on Twitter started being dropped almost hourly. Most women I know have been raped or sexually assaulted in their lives. The most visible and audible woman's experience right now is that of the victim; those with platforms and followings are being encouraged to share their story in solidarity, in order to shore up the most prominent, contested ones, to create a narrative that yes, this does happen, it happens all the time.

I don't have a rape story, and I don't have an assault story. In the past year, wondering why I don't has led me down a weird guilt spiral that inevitably ends with the re-realization that there's no reason that I don't. There's nothing I did right. It just didn't happen to me. This is disconcerting to me, in the context of a life where I have always felt left out of the things that supposedly comprise the experience of being a woman. It's not just the bra thing, though that's a useful metaphor. I've always felt left out of femininity, I've always had more male friends than female friends, going back to early childhood. Girls tormented me as a child, and as an adolescent, and as an adult; on the whole I have felt the emotional violence of other women more acutely than that of men. And yet, I know the latter exists.

Sometimes it feels like sharing one's own story of assault is the only powerful tool a woman can have against a patriarchy in its violent death throes, which often leaves me feeling useless in our social media-driven dialogue. The stories of sexual violence coming from women both famous and not, while harrowing, has also, to this outsider at least, appeared as a kind of global bonding experience. Which is really important for those who have been victims. But I want there to be a language for women to be advocates for each other that goes beyond "me, too" in its most literal sense. Because I cannot honestly say "me, too," and yet, nearly any woman I've ever been close with enough has told me about that time in college, or that date that went bad, or that time in eighth grade. I believe them, and I believe women I've never met before, not because it's happened to me, too, but because I know how the world works and I believe them.

I want to tell one story that is not a rape story, but it is a Hollywood story, and it's a story about a powerful Hollywood man. This story might not end the way you think it will!

When I was in college, a male classmate of mine wanted to cast a famous actor, let's call him Gary, in his thesis film. His dad had some connections, and I had gamely signed on to be my friend's AD, which meant when he went to a swanky event with the purpose of being introduced to this guy and hopefully turning it into a collaboration, he asked me to come along. I was excited, we were very young and to land this actor for a student film would be a coup; it felt like a bank heist. On the way over we were giddy and silly, "what if Gary says yes? What if he wants to do a feature?" etc etc. It was fun to at least be party to a young white man's Hollywood dreams on the cusp of coming true.

We went to the venue with his father. I expected that at some point my friend's dad would introduce us to Gary, and then let us take the lead and talk about this film my friend wanted to make. But my friend's dad didn't seem to know how to go about it. Maybe he didn't really know Gary at all. Who knows. My friend had also frozen up, and I remember sitting at the bar, my gaze going from this father and son, over to Gary in the corner of the room, who looked all too approachable. "You guys are too scared?" I asked incredulously. "Why don't you go over and charm him with your feminine wiles," my friend said. It was a joke, but of course it wasn't, and I felt like I had a lot to prove, so I went over and introduced myself to Gary.

I don't remember much about our conversation, I remember his eyes on me, and I remember feeling giddy and high with the power of his attention. I should maybe emphasize — Gary is extremely famous. You all know who he is and you probably love him. He has a pretty stellar reputation. I didn't have a particular thing for him, but after that conversation I remember feeling like I understood what real stardom was about. I had "dated" a minor TV star very briefly before that but this was on another level. Still, I was very mission-oriented, and made sure the conversation came back to praising my friend's script, and how awesome the film was going to be. I told him he had to see the film he had worked on with his dad, that had played at Berlin — Berlin! — so he could appreciate their genius. Gary seemed amenable to this. I had some little note cards from a Japanese stationary store in Little Tokyo on me, and I wrote my phone number down on one of them and gave it to Gary, who seemed beyond charmed. Then I went back to my friend and his dad, buzzing, but cynical enough to shrug. "I'm sure he'll never get in touch, but we'll see!"

We left shortly after. I remember wondering if this had been the plan all along, to throw me at Gary like in order to have an audacious, talked-about thesis film. I probably felt more flattered at the time than anything else to be considered worthy bait.

I remember where I was when Gary called my little Motorola flip phone — in my cubicle at the camera shop I worked at, probably reading Jezebel. I remember the surreality of his voice — that voice! — coming through the speaker. "This is Gary," he said. Duh, I thought. He wanted to know if I wanted to see a movie with him, maybe get dinner after. Ever the professional, I asked if we would talk about my friend's film. He seemed uninterested. I also, it should be mentioned, had a boyfriend at the time, and though I was starstruck I was not starstruck enough to just go to dinner and a movie with Gary with no pretense of artistic ambition on the table. I refused politely, but said that if he ever wanted to watch the film, I would get him a copy.

My friend, obviously, was tickled beyond belief by all this. This had become a secret extracurricular, a spy mission we would whisper about in between classes. My friend was adamant that we get Gary a screener of my friend's father's film, and soon I had negotiated an arrangement, with the stipulation that I now wonder about the legitimacy of, that I could not just leave it with him. I had to watch it with him, at his house, and take the DVD with me.

I remember driving up the winding hills to Gary's house, playing M.I.A.'s Kala extremely loudly to pump myself up. I remember being buzzed in at the gate and walking up a staircase through tropical plants and water features until I arrived at Gary's modernist, castle-like home perched in the hills. I remember how empty his home was, how sad it seemed. He asked if I wanted anything to drink, and I said, water, and he opened up his impressive Sub-Zero which contained a Brita pitcher and a lone tray of grocery store sushi.

We went to the living room, me clutching the little plastic DVD case like it was the one legitimizing thing in the whole room. I was there to help my friend, I was there to help my friend. I gave it to Gary, and he put it in the DVD player — shockingly, the DVD player in the living room didn't work. We would have to go to the one in his bedroom.

I don't remember if I could see right through this at the time, certainly by the next day I could. Gary put in the DVD in his bedroom entertainment system and then laid back on his California King bed, his lanky legs crossed over the fur throw. He held out one arm, beckoning me, and I pretended not to notice. There was a small ottoman at the foot of the bed, and I sat on it, hunched forward throughout the entirety of my friend's dad's stupid awful sophomoric Berlinale-approved movie, sipping on my water, being so good and professional and helpful.

Gary eventually turned down the opportunity to be in my friend's UCLA undergrad thesis film, no fucking shit. I never heard from him again. I wonder if what would have happened if I would have joined him on the bed, and if my friend would have had Gary — THE Gary, in his thesis film, and if it would have set him off on an exciting idiosyncratic career as a young auteur. How great that would have been for my friend.

I got a lot of mileage out of that story for many years — the time I went to Gary's house and he tried to get me to watch a movie with him in his bed. I played it up for laughs. I was certain that I looked like the cool person in that story.

A few things I appreciate a decade after the Gary incident:

Gary never tried anything with me. I sat on that ottoman, and there I stayed. I took the DVD with me when I left, he kissed my cheek, and that was that. Gary, in my experience at least, was a good guy in a Hollywood full of bad ones, and I was lucky.

My friend 100% tried to offer me up as bait to get Gary to be in his UCLA undergraduate thesis film, and so did his adult father, and this was funny to them.

Yes, I was good and drank water and sat on the ottoman, but Gary is a big person, and if he wanted to change that he could have. It wouldn't have mattered what I did right

Whenever I see Gary in a film — or in person, which has happened a few times because of my job — I get incredibly anxious and crazy feeling, despite the fact that he was good and really didn't do anything wrong — because I remember being in that weird empty luxurious house, and now I can look back and realize how young and dumb I was and how one of my young dumb male peers decided to use that to his advantage.

The MeToo movement has me reinterrogating events like this and others, where I was powerless but the worst didn't befall me. Why, why, why? It's a stupid question. Is there something about me that just doesn't attract violent men, socially or romantically? Is it my AA tits? My general left-behindness in all things popularly understood to be a part of the "female experience?" I've been so stupid, so many times, and experienced plenty of degrading shit that still doesn't fall into the category of assault and isn't something worth airing because it doesn't torture me; I don't have PTSD, it hasn't meaningfully disrupted my life. (My own brain does that on its own.) This is not the moment for non-stories like mine.

But I absolutely believe that there was nothing particularly game-changing that kept any of that from happening to me. And I understand the dynamics of a scene like that — where you're alone in a guy's house way up in the hills and he's the one with all the power, when you're alone with a guy in his car and he won't unlock the door to let you out, when you black out and find out a guy you thought was your friend was throwing himself on you in your absence. Any of those guys could have been rapists, and they weren't. Nothing about me or my actions would have changed that.

I have felt pent up with all of this for a year, as soon as it became apparent that the dominant dialogue among women would be sharing stories of trauma and violence. Because I don't have a tale of horror to peel off and lay before the reading public, but I have just a regular-ass life experience that absolutely corroborates all those tales of horror. It is not much — and I hope it stays that way. But I thought I'd share it.

209 notes · View notes

drouklazher-blog · 6 years

Note

smooch ur stupid boyfriend pls and thank

@unheimlig 8’> lol I made it sad

◆ || 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔟𝔩𝔢

Words of poisonous scornfulness. Brought forth in meeting before the Lord [ who quickly discarded them all the same. why did they even try? ] yet continuing with unrelenting force whenever topic would turn towards a certain scientist having taken residence amongst them. It is enough to draw a sigh from the family leader of the Kertia, [ Gejutel was just doing the very same ], eyes now closing to try and at least drown out most of the hatred spewed in these moments until they all would be released from his Highness’ comfort and magnificence to be left to wander or attend to other means. But no, as it only was, more decidedly obvious explanations of contempt and resentment following one after another, rumours heard in the world of mankind [ the very ones that had asked them time and time again to get rid of him ] now laid out in finest detail the assassin was uninterested to partake in.

So, as if of cue, he moves and shifts. Bows towards his Lord in a courteous manner in asking himself to be excused for the evening. Oh, that wouldn’t go over unnoticed [ each and every time they tried to turn their Majesty’s favour against Frankenstein, Ragar personally would not be interested to stay ]. Unsurprisingly words of spite now arise. Accusations brought forth of himself ‘indulging’ one of pathetic means - the traitor of humankind [ a monster, the devil ] - beyond what a family’s highest rank should even do. Would even stoop low enough to do.

It’s all old chatter [ and himself had barely ever given anything about his comrades’ urges of petty malice ]. All words that hold no meaning. No desire to even be commented upon, while he turns and raises shoulders in a shrug, all done while being permitted to leave by near surprisingly gentle urging brought forth in low droning whisper [ something wondrous like this? it made him want to question but— ah. of course, the Lord might suspect. no, even know ], and sharply halting the others all the same with another string of elegantly placed words [ how rare— ].

It’s not much later that he wanders the halls. Having not strayed too far from his place of former scathing company [ and yet—? ]. Thoughts ponder and race. Trying to mingle themselves into shape and spiral down to a very subtle sort of feeling so hard to imagine and come by. Does he not try and find an explanation that could finally halt the drumming in his mind? A strange thing that would happen [ he might have nearly gotten into a fight with them—? only halted by his own perfect self-control— maybe. ah! he should have, their words were of aversion - and abhorrence they should have tasted in return ]. It’s enough. Fine and silvery sound of a groan rising from his throat, those brilliant eyes of his closing while long fingers carefully caress the bridge of his nose, soothing an upcoming headache he had to have to bring under control. Alas, who to talk to? [ and he knew he needed to talk ]. Maybe Gejutel would help him out for a notice and a few heartbeats shared over the freshly brewed aroma of a hot beverage. At least, the other would know about the pains running rampant through his whole form, would maybe be able to—

“ You look horrible~ ”

As everything comes crashing down in those few instances that it takes for the assassin to realise the brushing motion in own long hair away [ when had he undone it in the first place? ] and that near dancing tease that was all but none. More gentle. Calmer. So as much, Viktor had been aware when to speak in what way to catch the family leader from falling into jaws of a clamouring void. Of touching a man of power like himself with so much gentleness that it felt like he would nearly - nearly just - break apart like the fragile creation of crystal clear glass, held so delicately between long and lithe fingers. How faint that Ragar would forget where they stood. That he would forget - not want to hear [ he always was aware. laughable ] - who would approach them, for those shining sky-blue eyes had spotted company, would narrow at their approach.

What did it matter if he could not show what he felt? What the ache inside his chest, the tension of muscles in hands, still so gingerly wrapping fingers around the fine structure of wrist and hand that had soothed his horrible feelings, did not truly mean for himself and the man so close [ so surely close in mind and body ] to him?

He could hear it once again. The grievance in their appearance. Still holding breath to not utter words in igniting a fight between the leaders that should be none at all. And so - maybe for a multitude of reasons - all thoughts and worries and hardships of his own aching heart be damned and thrown away. It had been just enough for the scientist to be here [ he was such a fool. should others not truly laugh about it? his Lord surely, he would— ]. To touch him. Care for him. For having that all-present tease of a smirk fall like a mask from beautiful visage in searching an answer to a burning question. They shouldn’t know, right? “Maybe.” An answer that came seconds too late and answered a hundred different questions all at once. When that hand in his grasp would be turned and brought closer so that lips could kiss the fine lifelines signifying their time together. Everything be damned. “Truly.” Being a whisper of abandon in their seconds shared solitude. “You are truly mine.” So he says and reaches up for just a bit. Lips touching in a feather-light shared desire to be known. To be shown. And abandon all that would hurt them right here and right now - for be those sounds of exasperation be a gorgeous little chime for themselves to dance in a breeze of this shattering tune.

Falling silent all at once. Falling to no remark at all anymore [ for they have lost— ], before he feels that subtle gift of warmth returned. A little bit deeper. Adoration flowing so easily like the heat that he feels from palm of hand put flat upon broad chest. “ As you are mine. ”

For it all be damned.

As the world around them could try - to tear them apart.

#unheimlig #ϟ [ drabble ]#ϟ [ there is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable ] Viktor #[ lol 8'> hi ]#[ akdada sobs a bit #i hope you like ; v ; ]

2 notes · View notes

kite-from-nowhere · 3 years

Text

There is a steady in-and-out blink of a slowly fading light. Like the decline of a dying star, it crackles and pops, waning from dimness to bright.

It is the only light for a very large area, it hangs above the door. Right above it. In daylight the door is welcoming enough, but not at night. At night it seems a different sort of entrance. Enticing and nearly sly, in that overly friendly way certain people are. Too friendly to not be a red flag. And it is red, faded and peeling paint shows that, even if there seems to be more metal left than anything.

To those who don't know what lies behind the door, it must incite a certain curiosity, mystery. All doors do, but especially this one. Lit up as it is. All else fades around it, it seems almost shrouded in a spotlight. The main attraction.

There is no sign on or around the door, only a short series of screwed on black metal numbers marking it from the other, unlit doors. And maybe they were lit once, just as this one is, graced by their own dying stars. But they aren't anymore and so it doesn't matter. The past will never be more important than the now.

Inside the door—for those who dare to enter—is a hallway. It is lit as well, three long fluorescent lights. Ugly things. Nearly violent. Clinical.

If the light outside is a dying star then these lights are just the opposite, nothing wild, nothing beautiful. Nothing so awe-inspiring as a death. They are life, and they are boring monotony entitled.

The hall itself is a shock. Not because it is interesting or particularly shocking on it's own, but because of that monotonous brightness. It's so flat, so even, it feels like being watched. Lit up and exposed. But not in the sense of putting on a show, there is no entertainment here. Only the apathetic gaze of observation.

Skin crawls at the thought of it, and the very fact that nothing is out of place—the walls and floor are an uninteresting mix of beige and browns, the decorations sparse and inoffensive, no windows—only adds to the uncanny effect. While it isn't perfect, it is perfectly plain. There is nothing interesting, nothing to catch the eye and produce thoughts or opinions. It is inhuman, corporate.

The hall isn't long, and at the end is another door, brown. Plain. Terrifying.

There are chairs (brown) just beside the door, to wait. There is never anyone in the chairs. No one waits. No one is there.

So all it takes is a knock and he'll call to you: "Come in" and you do.

He is not a tall man. And he is not short either. He is just as his office: middling. Some of that death has seeped in here too, but it's hidden quite harshly along life. The brown continues, but there are spots of interest. Paintings that don't quite fit in, sharp and eye-catching statues, a pile of papers with words that can just be made out. It is plain as much as it is interesting. Or maybe it is interesting because it is plain.

He is plain too. White with brown hair. His clothes are very beige, but there is always something off, a patterned overly-bright tie, colorful laces in his shoes, or just his teeth. His teeth are the place to look.

He talks a lot. It's his job. It's his job to get you to talk, and the best way to get someone to do something is to do it for them. When he talks, his mouth snaps open and shut. It's so rapid, effortless. Few things are effortless. Beyond his letter shaping lips are his teeth. They're crooked, one on the bottom juts out, it pushes on his lip and the words are forced to form around it. There's a gap between the front two, if you stare close enough maybe you can see beyond them, into his throat.

His teeth are beautiful. His eyes are not. The reason to look at his teeth is not just because they are strange and fascinating, but just as importantly, to avoid his eyes.

Even if you look at them just once, it's enough. His mouth is smiley, his smile crooked like his teeth. Interesting. His eyes are straight, cold, and fluorescent. Not brown, black.

The lights in the office are dim and his eyes catch the glow and they shine like hell and like nothing else you should ever wish to see.

When his mouth smiles, his eyes do not.

If you ignore it, he's friendly. If you look just at his teeth, he's smiling. There's no grimace if the skin around his mouth doesn't exist. There's no flat ugly stare if there's only crooked yellow teeth. There's no tense lines crinkled into suit pants by gripping fingers or irritated tapping toes. They don't exist. He is only teeth and quickly sounding lips.

When the hour is up he stands and he says the same thing every time.

"What did you achieve today?"

There's never any answer, because everything that could be learned has been. And it's well documented and obvious each time. There is nothing to achieve in a space where achievements are gold stars and dying lights. It only matters for as long as it lasts. And so few things last forever.

He doesn't wait for an answer anymore, he just sighs and runs his hand over his eyes, mercifully hiding them from view. There's nothing to be said and so no one says anything. And yet 10 minutes pass. He moves, but there's no reason.

I clear my throat and suddenly his eyes are on me. I flinch and I know he's seen it. But I focus on his teeth now. He's frowning, not angry--curious, or concerned.

"You should change the light outside" I say, quiet, voice creaking like basement stairs from disuse.

There's no light of recognition that I can see in teeth, so I look cautiously and haltingly to his eyes. They're narrowed and he nods, once, quick. I stand and I don't say goodbye.

Neither does he.

The hall passes in a blur, just shades of brown from the corner of my eye until I shove the red door open.

It's hot outside. Humid. The kind of weather where hair and clothes stick to skin and showers are useless. The street is dark. Pitch. Creeping.

The star has died.

0 notes

missmungoe · 7 years

Note

Zoro x Tashigi + Eel? :)

IT TAKES TWO // Zoro x Tashigi // Eel; Cooperation

It is, Tashigi decides, quite possibly the worst thing that could have happened. Which is saying something, because the list of worst-case scenarios is about three pages long.

She’d know — she wrote it.

And she’s been undercover before. It’s not her first rodeo, and she came prepared. She has ten different contingency plans (Smoker had, with that predictable, dry expression, told her she had about eight plans more than what was strictly necessary), and for each of those, has at least one backup, should any unforeseen problems arise.

Of course, “unforeseen” should have already suggested that she couldn’t have seen it coming, but she’s never been one to step down from a challenge, and she’d planned this down to the very last detail. A rogue tsunami she’d prepared for. An ill-timed, all-out bar brawl she’d somehow managed to factor into her plans, but not a single one of her contingencies had accounted for Roronoa Zoro accidentally gate-crashing her entire, meticulously outlined operation.

It would figure, though, given their history.

She doesn’t know why he’s there. One minute he hadn’t been, and she’d turned her head to check if her target had arrived, but between one breath and another he’d appeared in her periphery, sauntering into her line of sight as though he’d been personally invited. She’d very nearly spat out her drink.

For a moment, he looks a little lost, like he can’t remember why he’d wandered in, or maybe he’d meant to go somewhere else, seeking a bar although not necessarily this one, but a glance around the establishment – seedy clientele, the curl of cigarette smoke under the intimate gleam of the kerosene lamps hanging overhead, and the smell of cheap ale permeating the air – and he moves to find a table.

Something like panic turns her knuckles white around the tumbler in her hands. She’s barely touched it – has been sipping it for the past hour, partially as a demure show of ladylike contemplation to go with the part she’s trying to sell, and partially because she can’t really hold her drink (and oh, she can practically hear Smoker snorting his agreement to that) – but she considers downing the whole thing at the situation suddenly and ruthlessly dropped into her lap.

Situation in this case meaning potential but quite likely disaster.

She can’t have this happening. Not now. They’ve been after this criminal for months, and she’s had enough encounters with Straw-Hat Luffy’s crew to know that nothing ever goes to plan if any of them are in the near vicinity.

No, she has to do something, Tashigi decides, and with a breath, shoves all her contingency plans and their backups down the drain, along with her better judgement.

Then with her gaze fixed on the pirate seated across the crowded room, knocks back the drink and slides off the barstool.

The dress she’s wearing is a bit constricting, snug around her hips and chest, but the slit up the thigh leaves her legs free; a small mercy where she’s otherwise left with precious few of those. She’d refused the heels that came with it, although Smoker hadn’t exactly been hard to convince (“you’d trip and impale yourself on something,” he’d told her, and with a snort, added, “probably on the damn shoes”), and she’s glad of it now with the drink burning in her stomach and her head distractingly dizzy, as it leaves her steps as certain as her partially liquid conviction.

Shigure’s weight is missing, a phantom limb that begs at itching fingers, and she hates how it leaves her feeling – exposed, and even more than the obscenely cut dress that insists on clinging everywhere, but she shoves it down as she makes to cut across the crowded tavern. And she’s not unarmed; there’s a knife strapped to her thigh, another tucked into her brassiere, and a needle-thin blade slid carefully into the lovely, decorative comb holding her hair back. She came prepared.

Why, then, did he have to be there?

Having been served his drink, the same cheap ale running through the whole tavern’s veins, Roronoa catches her approach before she’s even reached the table he’s claimed for himself, and there’s a second where Tashigi realises he doesn’t recognise her – a fleeting glance spared her way, the barest sweep of his good eye across her form, before he’s deemed her uninteresting. But then –

Something makes him pause, the slightest dip of his brows preceding realisation, before his head swivels back sharply, and his eye fixes on hers – sees her face, and likely the frantic, near-murderous expression contorting it.

“Glasses,” he blurts, with obvious surprise, and Tashigi nearly yells.

Curbing the impulse with some effort, “What are you doing here?” she hisses instead, careful to keep her voice down, and she’s plastered a smile on her face now – one she hopes looks suitable for a woman who’s selected a man to fawn over. Regrettably, she doesn’t really know what that actually looks like, but hopes she’s not completely off the mark.

The fact that it feels like a grimace is probably an indication that she is. And with quite a bit.

Roronoa just stares, as though he can’t decide what to make of any of it, but then, “The hell are you doing?” he counters, before his eye travels downwards, taking in what she’s wearing, the dark, soft-clinging fabric, and it takes physical effort not to rear back at the way his brows climb up at the sight.

She knows the dress is revealing. That was the whole point. She’s not herself tonight – can’t be that, marine and Captain and swordswoman, because a woman like that would attract stares. The wrong sort, at least. The woman she is tonight needs to attract the right kind of attention. She needs to blend in, to slip under skeptical gazes with a pretty, unassuming smile. She needs to hide herself in plain sight.

And the fact that he’s looking at her like she isn’t that woman isn’t exactly helping her sell the part – as though observing her, he can spot all the things Tashigi knows are wrong, too, like the softer slant of her shoulders, because ladies don’t square them like they’re about to go into battle. She catches the way his gaze lingers on her elbows, her hands; knows, suddenly, that he’s looking for all the nicks and scars she usually has on display, softened now with rouge and other cosmetics, not the practical band-aids that usually map her skin. She’s never been afraid of showing her scars, clumsy as some of them are, but the woman she is tonight would be.

He’s making this unnecessarily difficult.

She leans forward, the flat of her palm pressed to his chest, a sensual approach that feels like the single most awkward thing she’s ever attempted in her entire life, and catching the sudden jump of his brows towards his hairline, Tashigi thinks he might have shoved her away if he hadn’t been caught so off guard by the gesture.

Sweet-but-painfully-forced smile in place, “I’m undercover,” she hisses into his ear. The bared skin under her hand is distractingly warm. “And you are compromising my job.”

Drawing back a bit to look at him, there’s a moment where he just stares right back, before the surprise eases off his face. But where she expects amusement – or something worse, something that would imply that he’s about to wilfully make things twice as difficult as he already has – Roronoa shifts his gaze upwards, to her hair, as though looking for something.

“Where did you stash your glasses?” he asks, as though that is somehow remotely important, and Tashigi suffocates a shout with her teeth.

“I’m wearing contact lenses,” she tells him, voice still too low to be heard above the din, but an irritated huff accompanying it. She has the sudden urge to push them up her nose, a nervous habit that itches in her fingers like her missing blade, and curls them into her palm to keep them still. “I don’t need them.”

She doesn’t tell him that she’s far too conspicuous with her glasses, too easily recognised even in these parts, but then she doesn’t have to – that infuriating nickname he has for her speaks for itself.

Roronoa looks at her for a long moment, something behind his expression that she can’t place, and Tashigi doesn’t know what she expects, because she’s given up expecting anything out of tonight, but then, “I prefer you with glasses,” he tells her.

And even with no expectations whatsoever, it’s easily the last thing she’d thought might come out of his mouth, and for a moment she’s so stunned she forgets that she’s freaking out – and that she’s trying very hard not to.

“Hey – you,” a voice says then, and Tashigi starts so violently she has to catch herself on his shoulder, and spinning around – oh, there’s her target, having arrived sometime while she’d been busy trying to salvage the mission coming apart at the seams, and the frustrated shout building in her throat threatens to escape with a hysterical laugh.

He’s a small mountain of exaggerated muscles – a living billboard-sign of overcompensation, and that’s even before factoring in the illegal trafficking of big, military grade weaponry. A stern mouth holding a permanent sneer and a three-day beard climbing up his cheeks, he’s not an unattractive man, but the hard, hungry glint behind his eyes twists it into something that threatens to turn her stomach.

They’d taken to calling him Barrel, on account of having no real name or identity, beyond the vague mutterings of a moniker that Smoker had downright refused to use, on account of it being too on-the-nose for their struggles to pin any actual crimes on him (“The Smoking Gun? Should toss his ass in Impel Down for that kind of cheek alone, what a fucking annoyance”).

He gives her a once-over, and Tashigi might have dismissed it as appreciative, except something like recognition has sparked behind his eyes now.

“I’ve seen your face before,” he says, brows furrowing, and – shit, Tashigi thinks. She’d been careful. All those months spent scoping out his operation, this is the first time she’s put herself in the field, and she’d considered the possibility that he might have heard about her, but had hoped the disguise would be convincing enough – or at the very least, that it would have distracted him enough from looking at her too closely.

So much for that.

A warm hand curves around her hip then, gripping it – a half-possessive touch that might have been fully that, if it hadn’t been for the entirely casual way he goes about doing it. As though he’s done it a thousand times, not claiming anything, simply fitting himself against her like he’s never been anywhere else, and she’s too startled to even react when Roronoa says, wholly deadpan, “You know my wife?”

The words don’t even register at first, before they do, and for a whole, ridiculously long second Tashigi doesn’t even breathe.

She finds her surprise echoed on the face of the man in front of them. “Wife?” Barrel asks, glancing between them.

Roronoa only lifts a brow. The hand on her hip curves further around the crest, his fingers splayed, bunching in the fabric of her dress. “Just married,” he says, sounding almost bored. “Why? You don’t believe me?”

He’s recognised her, Tashigi knows he has, but she catches the slide of his gaze to the hand hanging slack at her side.

Then, lifting his eyes back up, “I don’t see a wedding ring,” Barrel says.

She’s surprised when Roronoa just shrugs. “She didn’t want a ring,” he says, with so much ease he might as well have rehearsed it. The corner of his mouth lifts, a smile that looks suddenly wry as he catches her gaze; holds it. “I gave her a sword.”

Dubious, the man looks at Tashigi, and it’s not suspicion she finds on his face now, but familiar ridicule. “The hell would a woman want a sword for?” he asks.

She presses her lips together, and there’s a familiar rebuttal on its way off her tongue, but she suffocates it with everything she’s got. Because she’s playing a part – the part of that delicate, slit-up-the-thigh kind of woman who doesn’t challenge men to duels for her own honour. That woman has no callouses on her hands, or scars to decorate her skin, and only likes swords in the strictly suggestive sense; the kind that would make a man like that smile appreciatively, and write her off as no more dangerous than the promise found in a sweetly sensual smile.

She almost expects Roronoa to say something along those lines, when the hand on her hip tightens its grip, as though in agreement to her incensed reaction, but before she can even think about what that means, “She’s a collector,” he says, and her breath leaves her.

It’s not said derisively, or mockingly, the way she might have expected, a joke of the ‘oh, I just humoured my little lady’ sort. But no, it’s just…matter-of-fact. And it’s not a lie, and even if it’s not the whole truth, it catches her so off guard she forgets her anger.

The expression on Barrel’s face still hints at doubt, but she catches the drop of his eyes, glancing off the three swords on Roronoa’s hip, and – “Wait. You’re that pirate hunter guy,” he says then, and Tashigi’s stomach plummets. “Roronoa Zoro.”

Roronoa doesn’t even flinch, or remove his hand from her hip. “Name rings a bell,” he muses, but the slight shift of his head is deliberate; the soft clink of the three earrings seeming too soft for the general din of the tavern, but Tashigi sees how it draws her target’s gaze.

When he looks at her next the doubt is gone, replaced with something like amusement. “I thought I’d seen your face in the navy records,” he tells her, “but if you’re married to a pirate, I guess you can’t be her.”

Tashigi thinks she might have gaped, if she wasn’t so busy scrambling to catch up with everything that’s happening, leaving her expression curiously blank instead. And she isn’t given the chance to do or say anything as her target turns on his heel, moving back to the bar and hollering for the barkeep to pour him a drink.

She doesn’t breathe for several seconds.

Then, the hand that’s still on her hip registers, and it takes every ounce of restraint within her not to throw herself out of the casual half-embrace, if only to stop thinking about the warmth creeping through the thin fabric of her dress. But if she does, she might as well drop her entire disguise, and her mission with it.

Swallowing thickly, “Wife?” Tashigi asks, the furious whisper practically shivering with disbelief.

Roronoa just looks at her. “You’re welcome.”

There’s that hysterical laugh again, inching up her chest, and she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.

She’s never in her life missed her sword so much.

A deep breath – for control or for something else, Tashigi doesn’t know – and with every muscle in her body strung tight, she eases herself out from under his hand.

She tries very hard not to think about the way it slides down her hip, skirting her thigh before he curls his fingers around the mug of ale on the table, wholly at ease with the situation.

The words burn at the back of her throat, and she doesn’t want to speak them, but – damn it, she has to. If it hadn’t been for him, she might have outed herself as a navy officer, and they would have lost their best chance of catching him. He’d obviously been keeping an eye on who might potentially be trying to root out his operation, and it was a small miracle he’d chosen to take Roronoa’s words for what they were. Tashigi doubts he would have been so quick to take her word for it.

The realisation is too old and too familiar to raise her hackles, and instead she only feels tired.

But she owes him her gratitude, and she’s always paid her debts, and so, “Thank you,” Tashigi says stiffly. She straightens, then lets her shoulders go slack, her pose more submissive. It takes effort to remind herself to be soft.

Hands too restless to stay still, she reaches to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, fingertips brushing against the comb, and the blade hidden there. It’s not Shigure, but it succeeds in stilling her fretting, if only enough to rein in some of her control.

She thinks she might have expected some cheek for that admission, but Roronoa just looks at her – then at her target, now seated at the other end of the tavern. “Big job?” he asks instead.

Tashigi pushes a breath past her lips, and is surprised when her first impulse isn’t to snap at him to mind his own business.

“A crucial one,” she says, and doesn’t know why she’s discussing her mission with a pirate – and with this pirate, no less.

Roronoa is quiet a moment, before meeting her eyes. “I’ll help you,” he declares, and Tashigi balks.

“Help?”

He shrugs, as though he’d just offered to foot her bar tab, although even that seems a more likely prospect than this. “You want to catch this guy, right?” he asks. Then, his mouth curving in a slow grin, “And isn’t this what married couples do? Team up?”

She’s gaping at him now. “Mar–” She clamps her mouth shut when she almost lets slip a choked shriek, and in a fierce hiss, “We are not married!”

“Big guy over there thinks so,” Roronoa says, nodding towards her target, now halfway into his second glass in as many minutes.

“Only because you told him!” Tashigi whispers.

“He would have recognised you if I hadn’t,” Roronoa says, lifting his mug to his lips. “And he probably wouldn’t have caught you if you hadn’t been drawing so much attention to yourself when he walked in.”

“The only reason I was even talking to you is because you’re not supposed to be here!” she snaps.

Her anger has precious little effect. “I just came to drink. You’re the one who came over to my table,” he points out. Then with another sweeping glance at her getup, although there’s little of appreciation in it, just a wry sort of humour, “I probably wouldn’t have recognised you if you hadn’t.”

She thinks, calmly, that she wants to scream. She’d come prepared – had anticipated so many ways this could have gone wrong, and how to turn it around to her advantage, but she has no idea how to work around this. She hadn’t counted on a fake husband.

As though having read her mind, “So do you want my help or not?” Roronoa asks, and with a grin that tells her he’s well aware of how much trouble this is giving her.

Tashigi stares at him for a full second. Then, and with all the conviction she can muster without actually shouting the words at the top of her lungs, leans forward, and hisses,

“Absolutely not.”

—

She should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

“So what’s this guy’s deal, anyway?” Roronoa asks, voice drifting down to where she’s crouched in the alley, her gaze fixed intently on the street ahead. Her dress is riding up her thighs, impractical thing that it is, but she doesn’t have a mind to spare her partial indecency. Not when she’s so close, her own operation salvaged by some stroke of luck – good or bad, it doesn’t matter which if she can get what she needs from this, Tashigi thinks, although she suspects it might be the last one.

Pushing to her feet, she might have snapped that his talking isn’t exactly helping her attempt at covert eavesdropping, except he’s keeping his voice low, and hasn’t made a sound, seeming to have eased into the shadows at her back, as though comfortable in the dark. The black bandanna wrapped around his hair keeps even that from standing out, and it keeps stealing her attention whenever he enters her periphery. It is, in all fairness, a little distracting.

Of course, she doesn’t tell him that.

“Weapon trafficking,” Tashigi says at length, turning her eyes back to the street. Her target is standing some ways off, idling at the dark mouth of another side-street. He’d just finished relieving himself, and there’d been a second where she’d thought she’d followed him outside for nothing other than to see him take a piss, but when he’d lingered she knew she’d made the right call.

There’s a deal waiting to be brokered, and if she can just catch him in the act, they’ll have him, after months of struggling to pin so much as a tax evasion on him. They can finally root out this buried hornet’s nest, and leave the world a little better for it.

“Why don’t you just arrest him and be done with it?” Roronoa asks then, and Tashigi’s hands clench together in response.

It rankles to admit it, she realises. “Smoker-san…” she begins, before letting the words loose with a sigh, “Smoker-san suspects he might have connections. Within the navy. That it’s why we can’t find anything on him.”

She expects him to say something to that – some gleeful remark that her precious Government is as corrupt as the criminals she’s trying to catch, but Roronoa just makes a low sound of understanding.

“So you need hard evidence,” he says simply, and – Tashigi waits for the jibe, but it doesn’t come, and when she glances up at him it’s to find him watching her target.

She doesn’t know what to make of that. She doesn’t know what to make of anything about tonight.

Turning her attention back to the task at hand, she slips out the recording Den Den Mushi from where she’s kept it tucked away, all the while studiously ignoring the fact that she can feel his gaze on her. She half expects him to make a comment on where she’d kept the snail hidden, but Roronoa says nothing to that, either.

They wait in silence. An hour past midnight, the dark is both a hindrance and a comfort, keeping them hidden from sight but making it harder to peer through the shadows.

She knows she probably should have reported back by now, especially when things had nearly gone south earlier, but she’s handling it. Smoker will give her this one. And she’s so close – so close to finally catching this guy, if she could just get the evidence she needs…

The thought of her partner prompts another, and, “Where is the rest of your crew?” she asks then, before she can stop herself.

Roronoa shrugs. “I lost track of them a couple of hours ago. They’re probably fine.”

She blinks up at him. “Probably?”

The look he gives her is dry. “No one’s sounded any alarms yet,” is all he says. Then, and with a surety that’s so calmly uttered it sounds more like a statement of fact than a personal belief, “They’ll find me if they need me.”

She’s gaping now, she realises, before she blurts, “How have you people not been caught yet?”

She gets an arched brow for that, a flicker of humour in that lone, dark eye. “You tell me,” he says, mouth quirking. “You’re the navy officer. Aren’t you supposed to be slapping me in handcuffs?”

“I’m a little busy right now!” Tashigi whispers, before adding pertly, nose lifted, “I’ll arrest you when I’ve caught this criminal.”

“Hey,” Roronoa says, poking her shoulder lightly, and Tashigi starts at the contact. “That’s no way to show someone gratitude for offering you assistance,” he adds, and she very nearly shrieks.

“I didn’t ask for your help!”

“But you don’t mind that I’m here,” he says, and her mouth snaps shut, cutting off her retort.

It’s another one of those statements of fact, she realises – nothing grand about their speaking, no flourish to suggest gratification at being right, just a calm, unshakable certainty. I prefer you with glasses, and they’ll find me if they need me.

You don’t mind that I’m here, and there’s nothing gleeful about it; it’s just the truth.

She hates him a little, for being right.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Tashigi whispers under her breath, “How did I get myself into this?”

“Considering a divorce, wife? I’m hurt.”

She glares up at him. “Is this amusing to you?”

She gets another shrug, and the corner of his mouth crooking. “A little bit, yeah. I was bored earlier. I’m not bored anymore.”

“I’m so glad I could provide entertainment,” she hisses, and is about to follow up with a sharp reminder that she’s trying to do her job when a soft oath catches on her tongue instead.

“That,” Roronoa says, no amusement in his voice now and one-eyed gaze fixed on the street ahead of them, his brows knitting beneath the bandanna, “looks like trouble.”

She’s regrettably inclined to agree. A whole group is gathering – she counts fifteen in total, all heavily armed, seemingly with the weapons they’ve met to barter. Maybe it’s just a demonstration of strength, or an assurance of product quality. Either way, they’re vastly outnumbered.

Tashigi swallows. “Just a little.”

“Where the hell is your backup?” Roronoa asks then, sounding curiously irritated. “If I wasn’t here, who’d be covering you?”

She waves him off, eyes still on the group. “They’re on standby,” Tashigi says. “Smoker-san attracts too much attention. But I would have been fine on my own.”

“You don’t even have your sword on you,” he points out.

She lets out a breath. She feels Shigure’s absence keenly, but, “I would have managed,” she tells him firmly, and with a glance up at him, her gaze hard and cutting through the dark. “I manage.”

There’s a look on his face that she can’t place – the pull of his brows suggests familiarity, the press of his mouth displeasure; as though he’s heard the words before, maybe from someone else, but he says nothing, not to disagree with her or to give her any kind of indication as to why her rebuttal would rub him the wrong way.

He says nothing, and she turns away from him, holding out the Den Den Mushi. They’re standing close enough that if she concentrates, she can pick out what they’re saying, although they’re keeping their voices down, same as them. But the snail will pick it up, she knows – or hopes, but it’s the best she can do from this distance. Moving any closer is out of the question, and this is the only vantage point that allows her to observe what they’re doing.

They stand there for several minutes, Tashigi holding the snail, while simultaneously trying to listen in on the conversation taking place further down the street, and – there’s that thought again, creeping back from where she’d shoved it away earlier; the fact that she really doesn’t mind that he’s there. He remains a steady presence at her back, calm and unmoving; she can feel the warmth seeping off him, and there’s a strange comfort in it that Tashigi doesn’t want to think about too closely.

She’s used to having a partner at her back is all. The fact that it’s him doesn’t have anything to do with it.

So she tells herself, anyway.

She’s kept from considering the thought any further when the Den Den Mushi in her hand gives a strangled little chirrup, the kind that signals a snag in the recording, and the sound is so piercingly loud in the quiet, her heart stutters in her chest.

Then – “Shit,” Roronoa says, the exclamation soft and hard all at once, and Tashigi glances up just in time to see that the group they’re observing are looking right at where they’re hiding.

She hasn’t even had the chance to consider their options before there’s a hand clamping down on her shoulder, dragging her away from the alley mouth, and the startled sound on its way off her tongue doesn’t make it far before she finds her back shoved against the wall, and his mouth covering hers.

There’s less than a full second between the two sensations, the brick pushed up against her shoulders and the hard slant of his mouth over hers, before his hand is pushing into her hair and his tongue against hers, and for a moment Tashigi is so surprised she doesn’t even react.

Roronoa kisses her, and it’s less than five heartbeats of her life, although it feels like ten times that, and like time doesn’t move at all, even as she feels the beats, loud in her ears, filling her chest – and they’re his, she’s fairly certain, because her own heart has stopped dead, and there’s a vague inkling somewhere at the back of her mind that she should push him off her; that it’s what she should do.

“What–” she squeaks, and finds his hand fisting in her hair, slipping under the loose half-bun where she’s tucked the pretty comb. And she thinks she means to protest further but it dies on her tongue, dies with the slight flutter of her eyes and the sigh that shudders out, soft, and she isn’t that, has never been that and yet.

He’s warm, shockingly so in the chilly air and with her thin dress the only fabric between her chest and his, and she feels everything – the tight coil of the muscles in his forearm where it’s pressed against her back, and the hard planes of his chest. The hard-calloused fingers cradled around the back of her head tilts it, deepening the kiss until it sinks into her bones, into her whole body, and with such insistence that instead of pushing him away she sinks back against the wall instead.

There’s a light dusting of stubble on his jaw, rough like the kiss, like the fingers in her hair and the brick wall against her back, but then the palm of his other hand presses flat between her shoulder blades and the wall, keeping it from scuffing her skin. And the hands she hasn’t known what to do with all night finally finds purchase in the fabric of his coat, gripping so hard the slight tug pulls him closer, his large frame pushing her further against the wall, and the gasp that stutters out of her against his mouth has the hand in her hair jerking, as though from a shock.

“The hell?” a voice asks, the surprised utterance cleaving through the night and her mind both, and Roronoa releases her – breaks the kiss, like he’s surprised at having been caught.

Tashigi has no breath to catch; can’t even remember how, slumped slightly against the wall, but even having broken the kiss, he’s still pressed up against her, still supporting her weight. She has the half-delirious thought that if he hadn’t been, she would have lost her footing.

The hand in her hair leaves it – sword-calloused fingers snagging in the locks, before she feels the press of his knuckles between her shoulder blades, as though meant to jar her out of her shock, and she might have gathered herself, except she can’t seem to focus past the fact that he’s still standing so close, and she’s feeling all of him–

“You two again?” another voice asks then, Barrel’s voice this time, and that does it – drags her mercilessly out of her thoroughly-kissed daze into the cold night, and the group looking at them from the mouth of the alley.

Roronoa still hasn’t stepped away from her, and there’s nothing casually intimate about the half-embrace this time – hip to hip with less than a finger’s width of space between their bodies and the weight of a clenched fist pressed against the small of her back.

“Did we put up a sign that said we wanted an audience?” he asks, voice entirely level but carrying a hard note, suggesting irritation, even as she couldn’t have hoped to find her own, let alone summoned the mind to make a show of pretending to have been caught being indecent in public.

She’s not pretending, Tashigi realises, and would have laughed if she’d had any of her faculties with her. As it is, it takes all her focus just to locate her breath.

The clenched fist digging into her lower back that had been previously buried in her hair slides further down, around her hip to seek the hand hanging slack there, his fingers brushing her wrist where her pulse throbs a still-startled pace, and Tashigi feels the edges of the comb pressed against her palm, the blade slipped free of its confines.

She doesn’t know what’s more surprising – the fact that he’d managed to slip it out of her hair without her notice, or that she’s not even surprised that he’d realised it wasn’t just there for decoration.

But it’s what finally succeeds in dragging her fully out of her stupor, and despite the level weight of his voice and the casual remark, she feels the suggestion in the offer. Fingers gripping the blade, she steels herself, ready to launch into a defensive stance –

But it’s not suspicion that settles over Barrel’s features, just a wry sort of understanding, and, “Goddamn newlyweds,” he snorts, with a shake of his head, before he makes to turn away with an offhand comment about there being better places for a good fuck, earning a round of chuckles from the group, and Tashigi is too stunned to even make note of the appreciative glances offered her way.

Their business appears concluded, and they take their leave, disappearing back into dark corners until it’s just the two of them left in the alley.

The coast clear, Roronoa finally steps away, and Tashigi starts so violently she nearly collides with him, realising with a furious blush that they’d been standing in a rather compromising position for several minutes.

The sudden absence of his warmth hits her before the cold does, and, “Sorry,” he says then, no trace of amusement on his face now, and for a second all she can do is stare at him, too shocked even for outrage.

But even when she looks for it, that familiar anger that’s always at her fingertips whenever they meet, she can’t seem to grasp it. Instead it slips through her fingers, and she’s – reeling, like she can’t catch herself, can’t find purchase anywhere, and it’s at once terrifying and exhilarating and absolutely mortifying and there’s part of her that still wants to scream a little bit.

“Here,” Roronoa says then, rooting something out of his coat, and – it’s the Den Den Mushi, Tashigi realises. She hadn’t even noticed him taking it from her hands to hide it away.

She stares at it for several seconds, sitting in the palm of his hand. Then, reaching out, she curls her fingers around it, the gesture feeling suddenly awkward, and she’s got the snail in one hand and the comb with the hidden blade in the other, and doesn’t know what to do with either.

The look on his face suggests that he’s about to say something, and panic shoves up her throat, along with the words, and she makes no attempt to stop them this time.

“I – I have to go,” she blurts, and sees his brows furrowing, the gesture tugging at the scar over his eye, and before he has the chance to say anything at all she’s shoved away from the wall and down the street, half-stumbling and with her heart threatening to break through her ribcage. Roronoa doesn’t follow.

She doesn’t know what to do with the fact that she’s surprised that he doesn’t.

Although the worst realisation by far is the fact that she’s not surprised there’s a part of her that considers turning back.

—

“The hell took you so long?” Smoker asks when she wanders into the safe house later, still a little dazed, and cold to the marrow. “The kid I sent to check on you reported that you finished up over an hour ago.”

She stops just beyond the door. Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders, the comb still gripped between stiff fingers. She catches the direction of his gaze – sees from the slight furrow to his brow that he knows things haven’t gone the way she’d planned.

Tashigi doesn’t answer at once, because answering would require telling him she’d spent an hour walking around aimlessly just to collect herself, and hopes he won’t push her for an explanation. He respects her privacy enough to allow her whatever secrets she wants, and she doesn’t have any injuries that would suggest anything more than a slight scuffle taking place. Not even an accidental nick from her own knives.

True to form, Smoker doesn’t pry. “Did you get the recording?” he asks instead. There’s something strange in his expression that she can’t quite put her finger on, but she chalks it up to her current state, and makes to hand over the Den Den Mushi, but – fingers tucked around the snail, a thought strikes her suddenly, making her pause.

He could have attacked them, in that alley. Having seen him fight, Tashigi doubts they would have proved much of a challenge for Roronoa. He could have easily decided to draw his blades and taken them all out, and outed them both in the process. And she knows how operations like that work – at the first sign of smoke, the rats would scatter to far corners, expecting a fire. Her target would have had contingency plans, too. A second-in-command ready to wrap up any business and disappear into the shadows if their boss didn’t return on time, or at all.

Of course, his plans hadn’t accounted for Roronoa Zoro any more than Tashigi’s had.

She doesn’t know what to make of it – the decision to maintain their charade, salvaging her mission. She has her evidence, her target none the wiser. He’d helped her. He’d had no reason to assist her in the first place, and somehow, Tashigi doubts even Roronoa could have successfully written this off as a simple case of alleviated boredom.

Unbidden, the memory finds her of how he’d reacted when he’d kissed her – that startled jerk when she’d responded, as though she wasn’t the only one who’d been surprised, although at least she could say it was because she hadn’t seen it coming. She doesn’t know why he’d reacted like that – as though he’d expected something else than what he’d gotten.

Or – maybe she does know why, the thought finds her, thinking of the way she’d gripped his coat. The wall against her back, and his hand between her shoulder blades, holding her up even as she’d pushed back.

Blinking to dispel the image – and the warmth curling through her stomach, down her limbs, still stiff from the cold, it feels like the greatest effort in her life to drag her thoughts away, and to place the Den Den Mushi into Smoker’s waiting hand.

She can’t think about it. What is she doing, thinking about it?

She needs a bath, Tashigi decides. Her hair smells like the tavern she’d spent the evening squatting in, and it’s not helping that it’s the kind of smell she associates with him – cold frost-smoke and the sharp burn of a strong drink, and another smell she has no name for, rising from his skin.

“Bath!” she shouts, and Smoker arches a brow, surprised. She touches her forehead; presses her now-sweating palm against it, suffocating a whimper. “I need a bath,” she says, softer.

She makes for the door like she’s escaping, and is suddenly relieved she didn’t have backup with her at the bar, and that Smoker has spent the night at the safe house. She doubts the mission would have been a success if he’d been with her – doubts he would have ever let her live it down, if he knew what she’d been up to.

There is some comfort in that, Tashigi concedes. The only one who has to know about what went down tonight is her.

And Roronoa, comes the thought – along with that slow, curling warmth, remembering.

“Oi, Tashigi,” Smoker says then, when her shaking fingers have wrapped around the doorknob to the bathroom. A glance over her shoulder finds his severe expression knowingly amused, and she has the sudden, sinking fear that she knows what’s coming, even before he asks, dryly —

“When was the wedding?”

#One Piece #zotash #Zoro x Tashigi #Roronoa Zoro #Tashigi #Zoro #Roronoa Zoro x Tashigi #opfanfiction #opfanfic #fanfic #my fic #mungoe writes #under the sea prompts #baltigo

130 notes · View notes

treasure-exo · 7 years

Text

11 question tag

I wasn’t tagged by @oh-beyond and @e-xing(to my main @susie2110) for the 11 questions so here’s comes the trouble lol..

Rules: Answer 11 questions from the person who tagged you and make another 11 questions for the people you tag.

Oh-beyond’s questions

Scenario: You find yourself with your bias in an elevator that breaks down…

Ok lol I was once trapped in an elevator alone, not with someone and I was dumbfounded and didn’t even screamed for help and panicked but thank god some passerby saw the elevator wasn’t working properly and called for help.. so probably let’s see if I can survive or not...

1. He is a whiny baby… what do you do? How do you act around him?

I would first try to calm myself and then help him calm down if I calmed down in the first place which I probably would take time. (But as I’ll see Baekhyun’s fantastic smile after I would melt and forget every possible thing on this planet so I will probably help him and make it happen.)

2. Do you act around him like you know him or like you don’t?

I would try to pretend but I can’t control my feelings for so long so he would probably notice and than I would tell him I already know. So boring I know.

3. There is an obvious language barrier… do you try talk to him in his language (google translate, etc…) ? Or do you go for English and he can figure it out himself?

I somewhat know Korean yeah so I’ll try if he can understand my broken Korean otherwise I’ll use google translate because probably he would not get my English and accent lmao.

4. He starts crying… do you decide unstanning him? Or do you lend your shoulder to cry on?

I WOULD NOT UNSTAN HIM... ok lol but instead I’ll get to know what is wrong and try to solve the matter amd make him stop crying. So obviously lend my shoulder to cry on and listen to him rant.

5. He finally faints in your lap… do you take advantage? You stare? You touch his eyelashes to make sure they are real? His cheeks? Anything else?

Uh... I would not take any advantage. I would probably stare at him and adore him and his beauty because I know he’s beautiful lmao and probably ruffle or just touch his hair (I totally have a hair kink here) because they are so soft and touch his skin so pure. But other than this I would seriously try to make him wake up because fainting is scary.

6. He regains consciousness and he asks you if you’ve touched him… would you be honest?

Yes.. I would honestly tell him I touched his hair and skin to check if it’s not a dream and it’s really happening with some hesitation surely.

7. Do you try making him laugh? Or you act all uninterested to create a mysterious aura so he gets curious? What is your tactic?

I will probably like to create a mysterious aura because I love mysteries and creating or writing them is my hobby. So I’ll show some of my tricks to show I’m interested but by face remain neutral to confuse him(if it would work which I probably thinks not) and finally make an atmosphere where he’s frustrated and ask me anything anyway.

8. If you decide on telling you stan him. What would be your questions to him? Would you admit he’s your bias or make him jealous telling him you like a different member?

I’ll try make him jealous by telling him I stan some other person by appreciating the other and to the point where he’s completely jealous and frustrated but I’ll eventually laugh and tells him that I joked and he’s the person who I stan and appreciate more.

9. If you act like you don’t know him, would you still try to impress him?

Yes for sure. Definitely.

10. You are taken… if he asks you if you have a significant other… would you lie?

Hmmm...taken? By Byun Baekhyun? Yes I’ll tell him I’m taken by you and would not at all lie about the matter ;)

11. The lights of the elevator go off and he’s scared and gets too close and his hands are too handsy… would you stop him? Or…?

Well I’ll be the first one to hold his hand to make sure someone is still there with me. So lmao other than that I’ll stop him.

E-xing’s questions

1. If you could ask your bias for just one thing, what would you request?

Marry me!!!

2. It’s been a hard day for you. All you can think about is all the hardships you have going on. You’re going home in a rush, looking forward to chill for a while. There’s someone on the street hurrying somewhere, just like you are.Suddenly you bump your shoulder into a stranger. It turns out to be your bias. What will happen next? How do you react? Do you say something?

I would die at that moment but after recovered my fangirling mode will never put on. But as we both are in a hurry I’ll not waste his time further than just ask for a photo or autograph.

3. Would you rather go to an EXO concert or spend 2 hours with your bias? Why?

Spend 2 hours with my bias beacuse l will get to know him in general and if possible he might remember me and considers me a faifthful(pervert) fan of his. lmao.

4. You have the opportunity to go to Seoul, SK. Would you try to fit in with the civilians or would you visit tourist attractions solely?

I would love to see tourist attractions with getting to know their culture and people and if possible try to make friends there too.

5. While you’re there, you’re on your way to a restaurant. You’re dressed all nice, ready to feel alive for the night. Your friends texted you the address but you get lost. You stop a random person on the street asking for directions, but it’s your bias! Do you stutter? Do you flirt? Do you ask for a selca? Do you invite him along, as he helps you nicely and seems like a genuinely nice person? Do you pretend, do all this without revealing that he’s your bias?

I’m a libra and I can’t help but whatever i try to say always comes out in a way as if i’m flirting lol so yeah. Yep I’ll ask him for a selfie and also invite him if he’s free beacuse he’s Byun Baekhyun the irresistible. who would not I doubt...

6. You’re a journalist and your boss tells you that your next interview for the magazine is with EXO. Do you still take the task even though you stan the group or do you pass it for someone else who wouldn’t get biased while asking some questions? What do you do? Are you professional or do you let the fangirl inside take over?

I’ll still do that interview and while asking questions despite me being professional my inner fangirling will definitely comes out evetually and after the interview i might ask a question or two of mine. lol.

7. You’re talking to a guy online for weeks. Eventually you meet up in a public space but you see that he is your bias! Are you upset he lied about who he was or do you get over it and enjoy the rest of the date?

Totally not. I would be infact happy and surprized that the guy turned out to be my bias. so the date would probably go on as expected and I’ll enjoy.

8. What song do you associate with your bias? Why?

His own song - Beautiful(Baekhyun) because have you ever seen the lyrics? I mean it perfectly defines how I fell for him. Yes, his smile melts me and my heart flutters while he sings. Just listen to that song and his angelic voice. I’m sure you’ll fall for him too.

9. If it were to chose between your bias and your bias wrecker for a relationship, who would you end up with? Or would you go for another member?

Obviously my bias.

10. If you could live with a member for a month while in Seoul, who would you chose? Like in a flat. You’d have to share a flat.

flat? Is it an apartment? I’m sorry I didn’t get it and had to search. I would pick Baekhyun. I’m sorry but I love him with every atom of my body.

11. What makes your bias so special to you? How did he touched your heart and why did you chose him?

Good question. I mean I dont remember but his smile, his voice, his playfulness, his eyes, his genuine gestures. I mean i hated someone being goofy but he makes it seem cute, his dorky nature. but yet sometimes him being serious I love seeing his that side too. I can’t explain but for the very first time I chose him because of his voice in what is love.

Now, my questions:

They will probably be silly and idk what i should ask.

1. What do your bias do(any particular act, aegyo etc.) that makes you extremely happy?

2. Decribe your bias in three words.

3. You are in a relationship with your bias and that he forgets the date when both of you first met? also, your birthday.. what will you do? let it go? scold him?

4. If a genie appears and grants you three wishes of what you want from/for/with your bias. what would it will be?

5. If you got to spend a day as any disney princess with your bias as the prince of the particular tale. who would you be and what will you do?

6. You and your bias are on a date and suddenly he makes some clumsy mistake (spilling his drink on your dress etc.) what will be your reaction? will you leave or stay?

7. You wakes up suddenly and realizes that the group your bias is in was just a group in your dream and no such group exists in real life. but when you were out a day and suddenly sees a person who looks exactly like your bias. Would you approach him? let him go? your reaction?

8. You have millions of dollars in your bank account and you want to buy your bias a single thing. what will it be?

9. A song you like the most which your bias sang?

10. Do you like when your bias apply their significant makeup? or like them without makeup? A photo of best makeup look your bias ever had.

11. The last photo of your bias you saved in your phone.

Idk who to tag... lol because I’m scared. I may have a considerable number of mutuals but I don’t talk with most of them so I’ll tag those to whom I for even once talked or I know them at least. I’ll tag @heehunhan17 @technicallymilkshakes @fluffyyeollie @byunparks

#tagged #do it if you wanna

8 notes · View notes

kinetic-elaboration · 7 years

Text

March 2: Thoughts on 4x05 The Tinder Box

Finally watched 4x05. I have to say… I was anticipating that it would be bad (by which I mean uninteresting to me) based on the trailer but it was actually SO BAD that not only do I think it might be worse than even the shittiest S3 episodes, but I also think it might have tanked the whole season. And I was really optimistic and giving generally positive reviews of the season so far! But this was ATROCIOUS. I am so disillusioned and upset tbh.

Putting the rest under a cut so as not to harsh the buzz of anyone who might have liked the ep and/or not be so fatalistic about the season as I am.

Okay, a few things I liked-ish first.

I think the Raven stuff, with her brain going on overload, was interesting and I didn’t have a problem with it so much as it appeared in this episode, although it does make me wary. I’ll put the wariness below with the other ‘bad’ stuff but I will say I liked the floating sequence and I liked seeing a happy, excited, super-smart Raven even if the context was not so great.

Generally speaking, I had the least problems with the Becca’s lab story. I liked seeing more of Jackson and I thought Abby had some good moments too. Plus, while I don’t think tech-heavy sci fi of the bright white sheen variety fits this show very well, Becca’s lab was cool I will give it that.

It was a good Monty episode.

Yet again Bob Morley tragically under-used but his subtle expressions when he first suspected and later found out Octavia was alive = A+.

I’ve never had very strong feelings about Niylah since we’ve seen like 5 minutes of her before but I thought she was great in this episode and if we see more of her and more of her like this I’ll be happy. I loved how she and Clarke greeted each other this is my ideal ex-gf/ex-hookup scenario personally.

I liked seeing Clarke in doctor mode.

…That’s it lol. The rest sucked major rhino balls.

The stuff I didn’t like:

Oh where to start? I think I’ll go plot by plot.

Becca’s lab: I realize they’re somewhat constrained based on what they set up in that shitshow that was S3 but the narrative quality of the Becca story line was so poor last season—like I don’t care if the science is fake, even obviously fake, but it needs to be internally consistent and the Becca stuff was 100000% nonsense all the way down to the core, and pretty shallow and childish nonsense at that—so anything they come up with this season, whether “consistent” or retcon, is going to be side-eyed by me. The bar is VERY high for me to give a fuck and this episode didn’t meet the bar. Basically any time I hear about Becca’s lab or Becca’s experiments or Becca in space I just have this Pavlovian eye roll response because I know it’s going to be dumb; like I’ve just given up on any sense being made in this “story.”

I see you, Star Trek reference. (Okay, to be fair the concept of putting criminals on a boat and sending them away isn’t something Star Trek created and it is sort of an important detail of “Space Seed” that the criminals were super humans AND the tragic ham handed way that sci fi is dealt with here makes me think the PTB aren’t really familiar with sci fi let alone such classics as TOS BUT I’m sorry why did they have to be criminals? What sort of random detail is that? How does that make any sense? That just screams gratuitous “Space Seed” reference to me. And I put it in the negative column because I like The 100 but it’s often a mess and it’s not allowed to put its grubby paws on TOS.)

It was weird that last episode we had this big crew of people at Becca’s lab and now like half of them have disappeared. I mean, I know most of them are guest stars but, first of all Harper’s been in like every episode so far so fuck that and second of all it’s just jarring, like where the fuck did EVERYONE GO?

I’m getting pretty tired of the torture Raven Reyes show. Like it’s just literally never fucking ending.

I can’t believe they unveiled a fucking space ship and now they’re going to go into space? I’m sorry I’ve suspended a metric fuck ton of disbelief for this show but this is just beyond the pale I have rolled my eyes so far back into my head that all I can see anymore is the back of my skull.

The tinderbox: I anticipated finding this to be stupid because I am BOOOOOOOOOOORED of war stories I have literally seen 50 of them in this show alone I’m done. And there was nothing new here. Like...was this not literally the situation in 2A when Lxa’s army was ranged outside Camp Jaha? And Clarke has to negotiate to make it work? I’m not saying plots can’t be re-worked and called back to but there’s a difference between ‘we’ve shown you a similar moral problem in the past, here’s a new twist, do you still feel the same way?” and “this is literally the exact same scenario, without nuance then and without nuance now, that you’ve already watched. Let’s spend a good 50% or more of the episode on it!”

From a story telling perspective this plot suffered from two major and related flaws: First, the tension was created using Riley, a character who anyone with two brain cells to rub together should know should absolutely not be given a gun and brought to a tete-a-tete with the Ice Nation. I mean that’s just good sense. At the very least, perhaps they might have learned from previous Jasper experiences that mentally scarred people shouldn’t be armed and then set in front of their former tormentors. (Not that I blame Jasper for the Unity Day thing just saying that he has multiple times proven himself a liability for reasons very similar to the ones creating today’s Riley situation so not only is it obvious it’s a lesson they have literally learned before.) And people even note this! Repeatedly! Like 2, 3 different characters are like ‘hmmm maybe we shouldn’t given Riley a gun….?” YOU THINK SO HUH? Anyway I’m having a lot of fun mocking this but it’s just hilarious to me that not only do they write in this gigantic plot hole they have multiple characters point it out louder for the people in the back.

Second, and on a related note, there were too many main characters at stake for me to ever believe the tinder box would be lighted. Kane AND Bellamy AND Monty, plus potentially Harper and Riley (already credited in another three eps btw) and Papa Miller? Um yeah that bloodbath isn’t happening, I don’t care how long you stretch out that Bellamy/Riley/Echo scene. The result of these two issues was that there was no dramatic tension and the whole thing fell flat.

On a more personal level, while I loved Bob’s acting in the aforementioned show down with Riley and Echo it was VERY obvious to me that the point of that scene was not Riley, or Echo, or Ice Nation, or developing a theme, or developing the plot, or literally anything at all other than yet again shaming Bellamy for the massacre. I mean my fucking God Monty and Harper are given dialogue that implies Monty wasn’t part of the Pike Kill Squad (I know he joined up post-massacre but he was a Pikist let’s not forget that) and yet here Literal Male Lead Bellamy is STILL FUCKING ATONING I mean I’m bored of this. If the audience hasn’t forgiven Bellamy now they never will. Stop beating the dead horse.

And on an even more personal level… I’m sorry, I don’t like Harper, she’s yet to show a personality and this episode managed to simultaneously include a metric fuck ton of shots of her and not develop that non-personality in the slightest. I don’t think it would be clear that she and Monty were “dating” from this episode alone but I’m sure it was supposed to deepen their relationship for the viewer, yet for me it just yet again made it quite obvious that there is nothing here. This is the Emperor’s New Pairing. Why do they like each other? Why do they care about each other? I saw a million shots of Harper looking worried about Monty but that could have been any delinquent at all (except…wait…THEY’RE ALL DEAD WHOOOPS). So I just felt like it was a lot of shallow fuckery that did nothing but remind me of my hatred of this pairing without doing anything alleviate that hatred. (I’m being really incoherent here but my point is I hate Monty/Harper and I’m never going to pass up a chance to say this.)

“Ain’t we a pair?” Hilarious, but if this were fan fiction, I’d say “that’s so OOC Roan would never say that.” AND LOOK IT’S CANON AND I’M GONNA SAY THE SAME THING. ...That’s so OOC Roan would never say that.

Also I never saw anything particularly amazing about L or her leadership and it’s a little ridic that Roan is praising her now but tbh the thing that bugged me the most about that dialogue was the way he was shaming Clarke for caring about her people? I mean it’s all well and good to say you’re “tired of taking sides” (coughBellamycough) but at the end of the day literally everyone would choose their loved ones over randos, let alone their former/current enemies I mean DUH. If you can only save a few people you’ll save yourself and your family. A slightly larger handful, yourself and your community. This is just the human response to a dire situation, not Clarke’s Grand Moral Failing. Also if you think for one second L wouldn’t have chosen her people first and foremost you didn’t watch 2x16 you’re crazy. Also also what is Roan doing right at that moment but planning to kick Clarke’s people out of their own home to save his people like way to be a huge hypocrite you asshat.

The Arkadia plot: By which I mean the Arakadia explosion. Only the destruction of Mt. Weather has saddened me more. I LOVED the Ark. That was (is, in the form of the still living people) my favorite society on this show. And I don’t just like the people I like the whole aesthetic of it and now it’s gone, all gone, and I’m just like…. Was that really necessary? The need to make Nightblood the only true viable solution already exists: only fifty Arkadians saved? Several major characters not on the save list? Please, they didn’t need to do an extended reign of destruction scene to make the other solution more important.

Besides destroying a set I motherfucking loved which I’m not going to lie is my main complaint here, it also just…like we’re almost halfway through the season? This was the midseason finale? And I just feel now like every episode so far has been a giant waste of time? Like literally what have they accomplished: the peace with Azgeda is (was?) broken; a whole episode was wasted on a trip to get a piece of machinery that was destroyed and would have been useless anyway; another episode was wasted on the main characters going on a mission to find a bunker that was useless; the result was that that plot was really the catalyst for the making of the list; which was allegedly destroyed in the next episode anyway and is AGAIN useless now post-explosion; this whole episode with the extended Roan/Clarke negotiation was important for literally .2 seconds, then it becomes...wait for it...useless too--almost everything that’s been done so far is UTTERLY WITHOUT POINT because of the Alpha Station explosion… I mean I know that filler is necessary sometimes. I would say, at a conservative estimate, that 1/3 of 2A was filler. But this just… I have real complaints about the narrative structure of this show; I think it is incredibly sloppy and so many things—little things that build up—make me REALLY question the ability of JRoth/the writers to construct a narrative in even the most basic sense. It’s very, very disorientating and dissatisfying to me.

I never liked Illian and now I’m like…lol bye get outta my face. I should have seen this coming when JRoth (?) said that the killing-his-family scene was included so as not to repeat the Bellamy massacre story line mistake, by making it more clear what the motivations for the character’s bad actions are. But here’s the thing. First, Bellamy is a lead and from the protagonist society so it’s a lot more important that his motivation be clear and viewer sympathies remain with him, than in the Illian situation. It’s not that every character has to be sympathetic. It’s that main characters who the audience is supposed to consistently identify with and root for over time have to behave in understandable ways and maintain sympathy even when they behave badly. (Again—do they not get basic concepts of narration?? A legitimate question because it kinda seems like no.) Second, I will NEVER EVER IN A MILLION YEARS put my sympathy with anyone being antagonistic to the protagonist society. Yet again, a basic middle-school-level English class concept here. If some fucker steps up and destroys the people I care about I’m not going to give a fuck about his sob story. (This is different from morally ambiguous villainous characters like Dante or love-to-hate-them villains.) Third, because I actually know how technology works and I also know the back story of how ALIE got out into society, I know that Illian is just fundamentally, objectively wrong when he says “Skaikru made me kill my family.” Lol nope you’re wrong they didn’t. I understand why you think that but you’re wrong. And on a related note, because the ALIE stuff was so inconsistent and poorly constructed, I’m not super sympathetic to any “this is the consequences of ALIE” story generally because I just want to forget that bullshit entirely. So yeah basically Illian is a villain I don’t need to see him redeemed, I don’t need to see him and O hook up. I don’t give a fuck about him.

Misc. complaints: NO MILLER. NO JAHA. NO JASPER. SAD.

#the year 2017 #2017: fandom thoughts #2017: the 100 s4 #s4 reactions #s4 negativity #i hated this episode basically is what i'm saying in this long post #the 100 spoilers

4 notes · View notes

fentonizer · 7 years

Text

Achievement from the comfort of your pyjamas

Horizon Zero Dawn is a “good game.”

Strap in, folks.

Horizon Zero Dawn is peak “video games.” It is all things to all people. It is an open-world, action-adventure-rpg with resource gathering, crafting and stealth mechanics.

If you were to send one game into space so that if an alien civilisation found it they would know what human beings thought video games were all about, then Horizon Zero Dawn would be it.

None of this is praise, by the way. Not really. If you asked me to give it a score I would say that the game gets seven points out of ten points. Or I would say that it gets three and a half stars out of five stars. Or I would say that it gets sixty-eight percent (because the number sixty-nine is a meme and should be avoided in these circumstances).

Let’s take a step back. Let’s talk about open world games in general.

Open world games are a genre of video game that are as popular as they are maligned. Like most genres (of any medium), it’s kind of hard to pin down key facets that a game has to have to be open world, but I’ll try- if instead of walking the circuitous ground level path to your objective, you awkwardly try to jump up steep hills, trying to catch a piece of geometry your character can stand on, there’s a good chance you’re playing an open world game.

OK, let’s take another step back. Video games are an interactive medium. the most popular games are about either sports or shooting people with weapons. Conflict, basically. Conflict is inherently the easiest thing to make a game about as you can lose, so it’s easy to give the player a lose-condition and therefore motivation.

There are other ways to motivate the player, of course. You can tell them that there are one-hundred of a thing and they have to find a lot of them, if not all of them. This is a pretty base motivation. You could put something really difficult in the game, something that takes study and mastery to succeed at. The problem with this is that it’s much harder to make a system like that than it is to put one-hundred of a thing in a space.

Open world games often rely a lot on finding lots of a thing. I don’t know how I can say this without being rude, but open world games are generally a time sink. Without a well crafted world that you want to see, there’s no more depth in finding one-hundred of a thing in a hedge maze, or block of flats. Moreover, the only difference between an open-world game like this, and a linear story based game (something like The Last Of Us, which is more similar than you’d think) is the extracurricular padding.

Experience points is another good one to motivate people. Start at level 1, kill an enemy, get 10 experience points. Get 100 experience points and you can get to level 2, and then you’ll be strong enough to fight the thing that gives you 12exp. Get to level 5 and you'll have enough points to learn a new skill! Pretty great, huh?

Crafting is good as well. There’s a very popular game called Minecraft that, as well as lots of mining, had lots of crafting. You get some wood and that makes sticks and planks, and with some sticks and planks you can make a shitty pickaxe that can get you a few stone. Some stone gets you a better pickaxe and then you can mine coal and turn enough stone into a furnace, put the coal in it and smelt copper, and so on. The player is enticed by a branching tree of options as they find more and more things, and they are encouraged to explore and forage to build up supplies of these items.

Horizon Zero Dawn has all of this, which is why people like it. Problem is, it never gets out of the kiddie end of the pool with it. It’s the base level amount of a system, and it’s obvious how shallow it is after an hour (that’s why I said “kiddie end of the pool” because that’s the shallow end. Please fund more of this writing on Patreon).

Crafting is just some of a thing to get more space to carry stuff. That’s it. Then you can stop crafting. Levelling up gives you 10 more hit points, and 1 skill point to spend on a skill tree that is basically useless beyond 5 incredible skills that make the game a cake-walk (Double arrows/triple arrows/sneak attack/better stealth/more resources). There’s no weapon customisation beyond some modifications, but there’s no strategy here, just find the best ones (purple, because fucking obviously) and slot them in.

The story is the usual “chosen-one” power fantasy that gets bonus points for at least being about a woman. Robots threaten the world, oh no. Try to stop them ok? Second act (hugely telegraphed) plot revelation, third act triumph, post credits sequel bait. Knocked that shit out in a weekend, mate. It doesn't successfully say anything or mean anything to anyone, despite trying very hard to send a message about the dangers of hubris, or trees being super. If anything, the takeaway message is that humanity is a collection of bumbling savages and should have been consigned to extinction at the first opportunity.

To be fair, games are about systems. At least, all the games people play, are about systems. Maybe, if you want a good story, then do something like read a book, you fucker. A good story in a game is hard to come by, mostly because it’s very difficult to mesh an interactive medium with linear story telling (and even harder to do non-linear story telling).

Systems and mechanics are what keep people hooked, and differentiate the medium. But a game where the systems and mechanics can ultimately be “solved” are boring. This is the best weapon combo, this is the best armour, these are the best mods for the best weapons and best armour.

There’s some good time to be had with the gameplay, as you learn the combat. You can scan enemies and see their components, and you have you actually learn how to fight things. They’re not simply big bubbles of hit points, with a red spot on them that does double damage. There’s fuel tanks you can rupture, or you can shoot off their weapons, or tie them down, or lure them into traps, or apply statuses. And that’s fun! it really is. At least three of the aforementioned three and a half stars I would give this game come from fighting things.

The combat is good because you have to learn how to be good at it. You have to have a plan and an approach. You can’t waltz in with you spear and start whacking shit as you will lose, and personally I think that’s great. Well, fighting the machines anyway. Fighting humans is a clumsy mess, as they are actually blobs of HP with a head that takes lots of damage.

The rest of the game makes me super sad though, because it’s full of all these gamer-contrivances. It’s full of real menial shit that is only in there because most gamers (at least the most vocal ones) are time-rich kids who need something to do. So give them exp to grind, give them a map full of shit to tick off a list, none of which does anything.

Give them main story quests, side story quests, AND THEN errand type quests. Make them walk to a place, start a quest, walk to another place to talk to a person, click the now mandatory button that highlights the things you need to interact with before going to a third place to kill some dudes, before finally going back to the first person who tells you “thanks” and then to fuck off as dispassionately as the whole affair started.

Make every ledge the player character can climb obvious so when you need to scale something vertically, you’re just doing a dot-to-dot that is impossible to fail. And then make other waist-high walls insurmountable because whoever was meant to come around and paint this edge in worn white paint didn’t get here yet.

The world is large but ultimately uninteresting. There’s no sense of place or sufficient landmarks to encourage you to learn where you’re going. You rely entirely on fast travel and the numerous on-screen arrows to get around, never once did I feel lost or small, I felt the opposite. I felt like the centre of the universe, I felt like the whole place was built just for me. Which, again, comes down to the bizarre decision to make climbable objects so obvious, it breaks my immersion, because “a creator” has clearly done something.

It makes me sad, genuinely sad, because this is a “good video game.” People like it because of these things, not in spite of them. They like it because they can sit down for 3 or 4 hours and they will feel like they've achieved something... All I see, for the most part, is the total waste of time that video games are. They are the illusion of progression and achievement. They are the chips of the cultural world; objectively better than nothing at all, but ultimately of no value. No amount of “Triple-Cooked” BS is going to stop them from just being chips (triple cooked = triple-A, support me on Patreon).

If this is the height of games, if this is a masterpiece, then we truly are doomed. We don’t need to strive for better, for more meaning in our games, what we need is a dozen shallow systems that a player can indulge themselves in between school, work and masturbation breaks. That’s what gets the big bucks after all, a psychological trick-room where you’re lauded for “achievement” from the comfort of your pyjamas. You did it! Who’s good player?! It’s you! Yes it is!

And I know, I am being hugely elitist, this is a personal attack on you and the thing you like, and that makes me reprehensible. Maybe I’m just doing this to be contrarian or to be noticed. If this game had gotten bad reviews, I’d say I loved it.

A lot of people put a lot of hard work into this game and I respect that. It frequently looks stunning and... well, I don’t want to delve into consumer advice as a deflection here. It’s fine. The game is fine. It’s a fine game. Did I feel tested or challenged, did I feel I had to improve myself to overcome? Rarely. Do I feel like I learned something, anything, about the world, myself, my fellow man, or even anything about “video games?” No.

7/10. 3.5 Stars. 68%.

0 notes