#Ah. yes. clean line art. my old enemy.

[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (arranged marriage Au)

Part 1 is here, finally! Title a reference to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116.

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

Read it on Ao3 HERE

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Vesemir’s slap hit Geralt firmly on the back of the head. Two seconds previously Geralt had been complaining about his upcoming, politically motivated marriage to some nobleman’s son. 

“It’s a good thing, lad. Other witcher schools would kill for something like this,” he said. Geralt knew it was right, legal punishment for those who shortchanged or attacked witchers. It set a precedent, and apparently the earl was very influential. It could change things.

“And there isn’t a fidelity clause,” Eskel said. “It doesn’t have to be more than a sort of partnership.”

“No consummation requirement either,” sniggered Lambert from the other side of the campfire. “You don’t even have to fuck the bugger if he’s ugly.” This earned him a sharp elbow from Eskel. 

“What I don’t understand is what they get out of this,” Geralt said. It had been bugging him. 

“Ah,” Vesemir said, looking uneasy. “It seems that the payment is...taking the viscount off of the Earl’s hands, officially. It seems he’s something of an embarrassment.”

The unease in Vesemir’s voice was subtle, but after so many decades with their teacher, the wolves of Kaer Morhen knew the slight variations of tone and expression. His discomfort was twofold, first, the obvious implication that the Earl was sending his son to live a dangerous life alongside a witcher in order to...deal with him. A death sentence, from father to son. The second was that Geralt, already saddled with a political marriage, was also to be saddled with a nuisance of a husband. 

“But why me?” Geralt knew he was whining like a child, but he couldn’t help it. It was three days to Lettenhove, and then they’d be there at least a week for the wedding and he’d have to act courtly. 

He wasn’t good at courtly.

When he thought about it none of them were. 

“It couldn’t have been me,” Eskel said, a little shyly. He was right. Eskel believed his scars were horrible, made him unlovable and undesirable. Geralt didn’t buy it, but nobles could get a bit stroppy about appearances. And if they humiliated Eskel because of his scarring...no, Geralt wouldn’t let that happen.

“Couldn’t have been me,” Lambert said, mouth full and rather cheerfully. No. It couldn’t have been him either, no manners and no filter, they’d be at war with the entirety of Lettenhove within a day.

“And I’m an old man,” Vesemir said. He didn’t actually wink, but he might as well have. Older though he was, he was still three times the warrior of any young human man walking about these days. But from what Geralt had heard, and it hadn’t been much, the Viscount was young, not quite twenty, and it wouldn’t be kind to marry him to someone so much older than himself. Geralt reflected grimly that he was nearly four times the youth’s age.

Three days of riding passed far too quickly for Geralt’s liking.

Chateau de Lettenhove loomed. It was a fairytale castle built by a man expecting a siege. There were high, rising towers with huge windows and artful buttresses, but to the trained eye of the witchers, it was a fortress. The towers had carved, decorative arrow slits, the windows all had iron grates over them, wrought like lace, and the buttresses could be easily used as defensive positions. All in all, it was a castle that growled, albeit genteelly.

They were greeted first by a footman, and then a line of servants increasing in rank, until a very snobby servant, likely the head housekeeper from the way all the maids scuttled away from her, brought them to an anteroom. At this point courtesy dictated that she bade them sit down on one of the lavish sofas. She did not. She chose instead to turn up her nose and sweep away.

The four witchers remained standing, not looking at one another. Geralt could feel Lambert stewing about the obvious slight beside him. He reached out, still staring straight ahead, and tweaked Lambert’s ear. 

This was about to result in much brotherly retribution and probably a brawl when the housekeeper returned, followed by another woman.

“His lordship the Earl of Lettenhove is attending to vital business,” the housekeeper said, tone of voice implying that the arrival of four witchers who were muddying her nice clean floor were certainly not vital. “I present, her ladyship, Countess Amaria Elizaveta de Lettenhove.” 

The countess curtsied, it was a polite little bob, and she smiled a little dazedly as the witchers all gave their best attempt at courtly bows. A small but significant part of Geralt’s brain was panicking, and it dealt with this new form of terror by imagining that the school of the wolf, seen from the outside plying their newly practiced bows, must look like a line of seagulls vying for a dropped crumb.

Vesemir stepped forward and, in a rather more suave gesture than Geralt had been expecting, took the Countess’ hand and bowed over it. Two bows seemed excessive to Geralt, but since it seemed to indicate that Vesemir would be taking over the speaking for now, he certainly wasn’t about to bring it up. 

“A pleasure to meet you, my lady,” Vesemir said, straightening and releasing her hand. “May I introduce the school of the wolf. Eskel is--”

The countess had waved a limp hand. “Plenty of time for that at the feast, deary,” she said, smiling dreamily. There was something in her eyes that was a little absent, possibly more than a little if her calling Vesemir ‘deary’ was anything to go by. Geralt looked the countess over. He had been given to understand through the brief letters from the Lettenhove estate, that this wasn’t the viscount-Julian, the letters said-’s mother, but rather his step mother. She was a petite lady with mousy hair and rather absent blue eyes. Her dress was obviously of very fine material, rose pink and probably silk, although Lambert would know better than him, but a simpler cut than Geralt had expected. 

His examination, done in a split second, decided that she wasn’t an immediate enemy, but probably not a terrible useful ally. 

“I’m to give you this courting gift,” here she proffered a small but beautifully carved wooden box. “And to show you to your quarters.” She smiled again, and it was warm, but still vapid.

“Custom usually dictates that the fiancé give the courting gift,” Vesemir said, cautiously taking the box.”

“My husband wanted someone else to present it,” she said. “But your grandson can give his gift in person when he meets Julian. Now what...” she trailed off, not even noticing Vesemir’s slight sputter at grandson. “Ah yes, your rooms, right this way please.”

She got lost on the way to their rooms and a shaking footman showed them up to a suite, then kindly took her by the hand and led her away.

They sat, silent, in the nice but not lavish quarters. Four beds in curtained alcoves off to the side, and in the middle a room with a table and chairs, and a sofa and more comfortable chairs in front of a fireplace. It was already blazing and the witchers stared into it for a minute.

“That was strange,” Eskel finally said, and the others just nodded.

“Should I have insisted on giving her our courting gift?” Geralt said after another pause. “I thought they were usually given in person.”

“I think you’re fine,” Vesemir said. “If they broke that tradition they can hardly fault you for doing the same.”

Lambert, sprawled across the sofa, said, “When’s dinner?”

“I think I’m supposed to meet Julian first,” Geralt said. “Someone will probably come get us. 

“When we meet Julian you mean,” Lambert said, sitting up. 

“No, I’ve been thinking about that and I want to meet him alone.”

Vesemir nodded, “Sensible, we don’t know how he will react to one witcher, let alone four.” Then he smirked, although not unkindly, at Lambert. “You will be introduced and have a chance to be nosy later. At dinner perhaps.”

They unpacked their belongings, potion bottles and swords looking out of place along the old but nicely carved furniture. After days of tension on the road as Geralt wound himself tighter and tighter with anxiety for his...wedding, yes his wedding, now this pause was jarring. Eskel tapped him on the shoulder and gave him a look.

Geralt turned around to give Eskel room to work.

On the Path, witchers are rarely, if ever touched. Certainly not in a friendly way if the other isn’t being compensated. It wasn’t therefore, unusual for the wolves of Kaer Morhen to be tactile with one another. Not hugging and cuddling sweetly, but rough housing and wrestling ending in exhausted dog piles. But Eskel had a gift, he had magic hands, literally and figuratively, and he carefully oiled his hands while Geralt took off his travel stained shirt. 

Geralt sunk into himself, half meditating as Eskel dragged the tension from his shoulders and beat the knots from his muscles. It wasn’t a relaxing massage, but it always left him feeling like liquid, if slightly bruised. When it was over and the liquid feeling had left him, or at least subsided enough that his knees could hold him, he stood, clapping Eskel on the shoulder in thanks.

Then came the hard bit.

Geralt needed to be courtly. He scrubbed the bits he could with water and a cloth from a little washstand, but he hoped he could have a hot bath later. Afterwards Vesemir advanced on him and battled the dirt from underneath his fingernails with a stiff brush before attacking his hair with a comb. Geralt sat on the ground like a child, his brothers looking on in amusement as Vesemir sat behind him on the couch and teased the tangles from his hair. He was making faces, he knew, but Vesemir wasn’t gentle, and he hadn’t detangled his hair in some time.

Scrubbed raw, with his hair floating around his shoulders like a silver cloud, Lambert presented him with a doublet. 

It was black, which was good.

That was the only good thing about it. It was most likely a very nice, extremely fashionable doublet. Lambert might take delight in embarrassing Geralt, but he didn’t mess about with clothing. The issue was that it was attention grabbing, it was subtle in a way that seemed to play itself down while actually drawing every eye. It was black, in the same way a raven’s wing was black, every shimmering shade shifting as the fabric moved.

And he would be wearing it. 

He did wear it. 

His hands shook as he buttoned it up. 

He was just examining himself in a slightly tarnished hand mirror when there was a sharp knock at the door. The footman let himself in right after and bowed swiftly. 

“I am to escort the witchers of Kaer Morhen to meet Lord Julian.”

“Just the one witcher,” Geralt said. Vesemir pressed his courting gift, and the little carved boxed nestled on top, into his arms.

The footman didn’t seem to care and simply turned away, leading Geralt through hallways that all looked the same and down two very winding staicases, the second of which was so narrow his shoulders actually brushed the walls. They stopped outside a plain wooden door. The footman bowed and smiled. It looked, Geralt couldn’t help but feel, rather cruel. Then he left. Geralt knocked softly on the door, feeling very large in the narrow, low ceilinged hallway.

Eskel had told him once of a myth he had read, about a beast, half man half bull, hidden away in a maze. Geralt felt like such a beast, too large and rough and probably going to barge in and do everything wrong.

“Come in.” 

It was soft, but not nervous, and Geralt pushed open the door. 

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Oooh I’m naughty for leaving it there, but it’s almost 2000 words already. @llamasdumpsterfire here it is at last, I hope it lives up to expectations.

#the witcher #geraskier #arranged marriage au #vesemir #eskel #lambert #don't worry we'll meet Jaskier in part 2

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language, nudity (but, like, for art), and violence Warnings: Unhealthy dynamics, including violence between the shipped pair, leaning heavily into the "enemies" part of "enemies to friends to lovers" Summary: Local vampire discusses art, depictions of certain anatomy, and enjoys the company of her feral soulmate for 4.5 minutes. Then it goes to shit (as things tend to do). 0-60 Real goddamn quick. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly

4: Portraits For Ghosts

“Am I really supposed to just… stay here? Did she honestly think that I, of all people, would behave? The universe gave me two good hands, and by God, I intend to make that someone else’s problem,” you mutter to yourself as you get dressed. It’s not that you necessarily had anything in mind, rather that you hated the idea of waiting around for who knows how long for Cassandra to return. Especially considering what she had done prior to leaving. Sure, you had laughed, but that hadn’t meant much in the end. At this point, you hadn’t even been out of the dungeon for a full day yet, and the memories of what happened there were fresh in your mind. Nightmares, too, even if you had pushed them aside to deal with Cassandra’s. Why did I bother? You wonder, frowning. There was hardly any point to comforting a monster, no matter the way they trembled.

Or at least that’s the lie you sold yourself.

Soon enough, a knock at the door brings you out of your head. Daphne, maybe, you think, remembering the maiden from yesterday. When you open the door, however, you’re met with an unfamiliar woman. She’s a few years your senior, at the very least, and appears surprised to see you. In her hands is a very enticing tray of food.

“Lady Cassandra wanted me to bring this to you. I am… I am glad to see you are feeling better already,” she says, voice shaking. What was with these maidens and assuming you were anything like your soulmate? Though that last part did catch your interest. Something told you that she wasn’t at all referring to your time in the dungeon. If you had learned anything from Daphne, it was that the best way to get information was to be indirect. So you graciously accepted the food, before speaking, dodging your way around your ignorance.

“Yes, it’s amazing what a bit of meditating can do for the soul- and body, that is,” you start, watching closely for any veiled reactions. Even within the first few words you can tell that this stranger wasn’t expecting you to be pleasant. “Out of curiosity, what did my Lady say about my condition? There are, uh, a few details that I hope she did not share. I’m sure you understand.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, the maiden is nodding, appearing eager to satisfy you. Maybe a hint of fear can be useful, after all.

“No worries, Lady Cassandra did well to respect your privacy, and we would not dare question her further. She simply explained, to her family, that you were dealing with a migraine. I only heard this because I was helping serve breakfast,” she explained, smiling softly. You’re quick to nod, mimicking her expression for maximum empathy. “Do you require anything else? I am here to serve, you must only ask.” Ah, perfect. Would she have offered this even if you hadn’t attempted to be charming? Probably, but your politeness certainly didn't hurt.

“Well, there is one thing… as long as it’s no trouble.”

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It had been a risk, asking the servant to take you to a room you weren’t sure existed, but one that had paid off brilliantly. Even if said room was nothing like you had anticipated. Who would have thought that Cassandra, you think, would be an artist? What’s far less surprising is the fact that the studio (or ‘study’, as you had called it) is a disorganized disaster. Discarded papers lie scattered around an overflowing trash can, a cabinet with an attached tool rack is missing pieces, and in one corner there are literally random shards of broken glass lying about. What is this, performance art? Part of you feels tempted to clean up the mess, if only to occupy your time. Instead, you decide to examine some of the pieces within the room. Maybe somehow they’d tell you something noteworthy about your soulmate.

First, you move to your left, where a workbench houses strange sculptures. For the most part they’re abstract, jagged edges contrasting with gentle curves, but there is one you think you understand. It’s very clearly a bust… of someone’s ‘bust’. Guess that solves the age old question of ‘boobs or ass’, you think, stifling a giggle. Moving on, you shift your attention to the exposed section of the cabinet. One row is dedicated to small vials, each labeled with a concerning ‘blood’, despite the fact that it’s clearly not refrigerated. Still, you have heard of artists painting with blood before, but you seem to recall them mixing it with something else. Perhaps Cassandra had done the same? Though you did wonder if she had any difficulty resisting the urge to drink the blood, at least prior to mixing it.

Shrugging, you continue to the other side of the studio, squatting to get a closer look at the broken glass. As expected, there’s no discernable pattern or purpose. Huh, you think, wonder why she doesn’t clean up. Maybe she’s waiting for a servant to do it? Guessing her reasoning was rather difficult, especially considering your lack of context, such as how long the mess had been here. Deciding that this was a pointless distraction, you move on to the only other thing of note in the room: An easel, in the center, with a canvas nearly as tall as yourself. So far, there’s little on it other than pencil lines, a sketch marking where to paint certain details. Only the (start of) the background has been colored. Understandably, it’s hard to make out what exactly the finished project would end up representing. Based on what you know of Cassandra and her family, however, you infer that this- with four figures, one larger than the others, protective- is a painting of the castle residents.

“Family means something to you, hmm?... I hope that mine does not miss me much, for I will never see them again,” you say to yourself, instinctively reaching out towards the art. Before you can touch it, or think better of it, the door to the studio is flying open. In storms Cassandra, fists clenched at her sides. As soon as she sees you, she’s rushing forward, pulling you away from the easel. “Hello, darling. Glad to see me feeling better, yes?” You teased, smiling wide at her. Feeling a bit emboldened by your earlier success, you go a step further, leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I swear to fuck, if you touched any of my stuff-” Cassandra starts to say, intentionally ignoring the kiss, even though her cheeks get flush at the contact.

“Nope, not a single thing. Not even the broken glass. Nice touch, by the way, makes the whole space feel a helluva lot cozier,” you interject. For a few moments she holds you by your shirt collar, staring you in the eyes as if determining whether or not to believe you. Somehow, some way, she declares you innocent, releasing you with an irritated sigh. After pretending to dust yourself off, you return your attention to the central canvas. “Do you do a lot of art of your family? I passed by several pieces on my way here, though they were certainly in a different style.” Another pause, with Cassandra waiting for you to spring a verbal trap.

“Some of those are mother’s work,” she answers, tentatively, eying you closely. When you merely nod in reply, expecting her to elaborate, she starts to relax, little by little. “I doubt you passed any of mine. Mother tends to keep those closer to her quarters, or near the main entrance.” Interesting, you think, why hasn’t she addressed my original question?

“It sounds like she’s very proud of you,” you muse, still facing away from your soulmate. There’s a slight shakiness to your voice, as your mind starts to dwell on memories of your own family. Perhaps noticing this, Cassandra takes a few steps closer, one hand hovering over your shoulder, not quite sure if you needed (or perhaps deserved) any comfort. In this moment, you feel far more vulnerable than you had the day before. Taking a deep breath, you try to center yourself, before perfectly ruining whatever trust you had just established with Cassandra. “Something tells me she doesn’t know about the titty sculpture though, right? Can’t quite imagine that one being displayed where everyone can see it.”

To your immense surprise, Cassandra gives you a blank stare.

“You… you really don’t know anything about my mother, do you?” She says, after several awkward seconds. It feels strange to think that she had been furious, merely a handful of minutes ago. “If you actually behave for a while, I can show you some of her favorite pieces around the castle. Then maybe you’ll understand.” Intrigued, you debate how exactly to respond. On one hand, you did want to see the art, but on the other hand… misbehaving was your goal of the day.

“Sounds like a nice date to me. Why not start the tour right now?” You suggest, hoping to meet your ‘politeness quota’ earlier rather than later. Still, it is in your very nature to be chaotic, and you find yourself giving Cassandra an affectionate shoulder touch. It’s not at all genuine, but the two of you blush nonetheless. How could you not, when your blood was bound together, hearts made to race in sync?

“Don’t get friendly with me,” Cassandra stammers, unadjusted to the way her pulse pounded. “This isn’t a date. We’re just- it doesn’t matter, actually. As long as it means getting you out of my studio, I don’t care.” With that said, she takes your hand in her own, pulling you towards the exit. If she has any feelings about the soft touch, she hides them well… unlike yourself. Cheeks flushed, you’re half tempted to yank yourself out of her grip, hating the way your heart skips a few beats. Would I still feel this way if I didn’t know we were soulmates? You wonder, biting your lower lip to prevent any unwanted comments from slipping out. Soon enough you’d have art aplenty to distract yourself with. Hopefully.

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“My God, you were not kidding. I don’t- I can’t even think of anything clever to say,” you chime, staring dumbfounded at the several statuettes of naked women. They seemed to fulfill some other purpose, one you couldn’t parse at the moment, but you could hardly think about the details right now. “I mean, good for your mother, for sticking to a theme, I suppose,” you continue, tripping over your own tongue, uncharacteristically quiet. Clearly amused by your flustered display, Cassandra lets out a hearty laugh.

“Good to know some things can shut you up. I’ll have to keep this in mind for next time you bother me,” she teases, light-heartedly. Her words only fluster you more, though they quickly give you room to counter, much to your joy.

“Is that so? Planning on carrying around a busty bust for the rest of your life, or thinking of going the more au naturel route?” You asked, briefly sticking your tongue out at Cassandra. It takes her a moment to understand what you’re getting at, but as soon as she does she’s smacking your arm with an offended huff. Despite her irritation, the blow is relatively soft, and you swear you can see her fighting to hide a smile. “Starting to go soft on me, are you? I hardly even felt that one.”

“So you’d prefer I hit you harder? And to think you called me kinky,” Cassandra fires back, without a hint of hesitation. Now both of you are laughing, softly, like old friends sharing fond memories. It’s… weirdly nice. A warmth fills your chest, even as you try to remind yourself that you shouldn’t be happy right now. Damn it, you think, suddenly frowning, hands clenching. We shouldn’t be having fun banter, back and forth like a real couple. Not when I’ve still got wounds from her hands on my skin. Instinctively you reach up to your face, thumb running over the marks Cassandra’s nails had left behind. The touch stings, bad, no matter how gentle you try to be. Noticing your shift in expression, your soulmate inches closer. “If your wounds are bothering you, I can have one of the servants get more ointment or whatever it is we have around. I don’t want you to-... There’s no reason for you to suffer more than you need to, besides, I don’t want you complaining all day.” Of course she couldn’t bring herself to imply that she cared. Of course. It wasn’t like the two of you were actually capable of being soft for each other, obviously. All of your confusion melts down, boiled by the warmth in your chest, turning to a familiar, albeit painful, rage.

“Right, right! Because you care so fucking much, yeah? What the fuck am I doing? Why am I-” you jab a finger towards her chest, accusatory- “talking to you? Why am I pretending you're not the one who did this to me? You’re the fucking reason my face hurts, my shoulder hurts, my brain-... I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened down there. I can’t get those goddamn images out of my head, every time I close my eyes, every time I look at you. I…” You trail off, chest heaving a little, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Cassandra’s standing tall, unflinching, but there’s a noticeable regret in her expression.

“What. Are. You… going to do about it?” She asks, through clenched teeth, fighting back the full force of her emotions. You can’t tell what exactly she’s feeling, but you know that you want her to show you. Every part of you is itching for a fist fight, regardless of how stupid you know the idea is.

“Depends, dickwad, on whether or not these statuettes are properly secured,” you snap, already moving, fully abandoning all impulse control. By the time your hand grips the first sculpture, Cassandra has put you in a headlock, forcefully tugging you backwards. Panic sets in, making you try to jam your elbows into her stomach. Before long both of you are tumbling to the floor, bodies already aching, limbs flailing wildly in an attempt to hit a target, any target. In the end the air is knocked from your lungs as your head smacks against the ground. “Shit, shit, shit,” you grumble, coughing, finally processing just how much of a dumbass you were. It’s clear that at least one of the previous day’s wounds has reopened, and you feel something wet and sticky on your shirt.

“Finished, asshole?” Cassandra wheezes, sounding dazed, roughly pulling you up by your shirt collar. You nod, refusing to meet her gaze. Then she’s sighing in relief, letting you lean on her for support, holding you surprisingly close, considering the circumstances. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Again…”

#cassandra dimitrescu x reader #cassandra dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #enemies to friends to lovers #blunt teeth sharp tongue #got some fun banter in this one! #followed immediately by heartbreak #they want to be soft so bad #but they do not know how #i promise they will eventually be soft #you have to remember that this is still less than 24 hours after part 1 #the reader is traumatized

[killrockabill]

azula redemptive

so this isnt a full redemption more of a setting her on the path. azula is a character i kind of identify with. i grew up in a chaotic environment and learned to “play the game” manipulate lie and occasionally throw people under the bus. at first it was just a way to get through life but then it kinda just became who i was. i have gone to counseling etc but still occasionally wonder if my feelings are real or if theyre just what theyre supposed to be. i was lucky to have people in my life. my uncle irohs but she didnt seem to. here it is.

Azula was never the type for brooding, that was more zuzu’s territory. Tonight was different. She was tired. It had been a few years since the avatar ended one hundred year war.  she had barely kept track of the actual amount of time. In the time since however; she had not grown complacent. she couldn’t. 

Zuzu had become the fire lord and seemed to be decent enough at it. At least he was capable of not destroying the fire nation with incompetence. While they were never close there was a hint of something in her that could almost be considered pride. No. Pride was the wrong word the feeling was more that of acknowledgment. He and the avatar won and that was the end of that story. 

For a time azula was unsure of her place in the universe. She had lived her life to be the true heir, to be ozai. He was a wrathful and petty god and she was his disciple. 

“ Why was that again?” She pondered. “Well what else could i be? Zuzu?” She knew she was smarter than that.

Zuko was soft and too stupid to play the game, so she used him. Every misstep, every weakness was a way to save herself from being him. Did she ever feel bad about it? Perhaps a long time ago, not that it mattered. You do something long enough you get used to it and when you get good at it you start to enjoy it. Every maneuver, every manipulation was a victory and nobody played the game like her. 

“My shadow lord” a shaky voice called from behind. The cult of ozai must have sent him. They had been useful to be sure, but she hated that name. It reminded her of the darkness within her, the same darkness her mother saw. 

“Yes?” Azula spoke finally in an exasperated tone. “What is it? i have no use of any of you right now.”

“F-forgive me. I-I have come to warn you.” he stuttered as though he were shaken by the earth itself. 

“You? Warn me? I may not be the fire lord anymore, but i am still one of the most powerful firebenders of this generation. What could be coming that I need worry?!” That was a bit more intense than she intended, but anyone who knew her knew it was her default state.

“N-nothing that i'm sure you cannot handle, b-but as your loyal servant it’s my duty. The ozai followers t-they doubt your intentions. They believe you don't intend to restore ozai to power.”

That was a fair thought seeing as she had no intention of restoring ozai to power. She had used them to challenge zuko and make him grow into the strong leader the fire nation needed. He was soft on enemies, azula being a perfect example, and not wary of friends that could turn on him as they do. 

“Hmph, well I suppose i owe you thanks. Tonight you will leave and discard any sign of joining the movement. Live a life well or not it doesn't matter to me” she hated being in debt to someone. Azula could manage some over privileged fanatics, but knowing she’ll have to get her hands a bit dirty is nice.

“M-my lady i-i-i apologize i meant no offense.  please i-“ 

Azula cut him off. “ you misunderstand. Tonight there’s going to be a … discussion, between the rest of the group. Take this and go do whatever it is you people do.” She flipped a gold piece. She couldn't be bothered to remember if he was one of the wealthy members and what's one gold piece. It was his duty to her to report and that should be rewarded. Flies and honey; perhaps if she did that back then those two. NO we are not going there azula scolded herself. Focus.

The man was still sitting there mouth agape like a fool. Was he processing what just happened? Regretting exposing his comrades? If he betrays her and lets them know she's coming she will live up to the darkness that earned her the title shadow lord. 

“I don’t know what you are waiting for, but go. I have an appointment.”  Azula walked past him. Ordinarily any threat of a stanger betraying her and leading her to a trap would be subdued by their fear of her. Azula learned that was not a guarantee the hard way. Her shoulder aches like an old woman from ty lee’s strike. That wasn’t what azula had heard about chi blocking, but maybe this hit was deeper. 

“FOCUS” azula chided herself “her of all people.  Yes, I did use fear to keep them in line but I was good to her. I tried at least. There weren’t many who’s tears could get to me. Fuck, enough. You need to deal with these fools”

Azula had reached the door to where the cult of ozai held their meeting. A Modest wooded shack near where Azula was. It benefited them to be out of the way and not get attention. Azula paused and thought “alright put on the scary eyes” before making her entrance. You could hear the conversation screech to a halt.

“My lady! Welcome, what brings you? New plans rid us of your brother?” One finally broke the silence. The fool that was their leader before azula had seized control. 

The gaul to pretend like they werent just talking about turning on her. Did they know who they were dealing with? She was no longer princess azula daughter of ozai; she was the god now. 

“Its come to my attention that some of us feel breaking my father, ozai out of prison. Let me clear ozai was a fool who bit off more than he could chew trying to conquer the world. He’s weak now spoiled by everyone's fear of him he lost to a child.”

“You speak out of turn little girl. You wouldn’t be so brave as to say that in his presence!” One of them burst out. 

“Ah, yes the withered old man that has been in shackles for how many years?” Azula genuinely could not remember anymore. “I am a prodigy trained by the finest benders this nation has to offer. The bender that conquered ba sing se. Even with his bending he lost to an avatar that I beat. “ 

Azula wasn’t bragging. This was the fight. Subduing them without having to lift a finger. What happens when azula needs to lift a finger? Well, let's say azula would oblige in earnest. She could tell most of them had already seemed to understand. Any of them try something it’ll end one way. She’d won the fight before they could even try; perhaps she should write a book azula mused. “Azulas art of war”. 

The only one not to flinch was their leader. His smile from when he greeted her did not waiver. He must have something in mind, as he would have no way of defeating her in single combat.

“My princess, perhaps you’re right there is something unclear about our partnership.” He started, as calm as can be. “ you are a talented bender to be sure, but without your father’s backing you’re simply an unstable little girl. Your usefulness is only in name and furthering our reputation.” 

Usefulness? This commoner did not just reference her as a prop in their machinations. This was when azula began to get heated, literally. Around her the air began to warm until the air around her blurred like that of the air around an open flame. The room had become unbearably hot for the others, but azula the dragon she was, could handle much more.

Azula let out a sigh. “Unstable?!? Lets be clear you work for me! Not the other way around. I have seen and done more in life let alone for the fire nation than you will in what is about to become a shortened life!” 

Parts of azula began to catch fire as her rage seethed. Zuzu may have been a lame turtle duck of a brother, but he did show her the usefulness of adapting different bending styles. The fire on her crawled across her body into a sphere in her hands. Though the leader had prepared for a direct strike; azula had something else prepared. She slammed her hand on the floor and allowed the fire ball to be pressed on the ground exploding out in a circle around her. 

The cabin had caught fire and many of the cultists were sent flying into the walls and scattered like the insects they were. Azula had practiced that move for some time and understood why strong earth benders would use an impact like strike like that. It was an effective way to combine offence and defense, and not to mention oddly satisfying. 

Azula may have been willing to kill if necessary but leaving them broken was the better choice. She snuffed out the fire leaving the smoke cloud to cover her exit. That should be a clear message to anyone. Princess azula is done.

Fire lord zuko did not need his shadow lord anymore. Azula hated to admit zuko had become a passable fire lord. The land prospered, and while zuko is about peace hes is firmer on asserting influence in world. The fire nation is still a force to be reckoned with and she was as influential in it as the avatar or that slob of an uncle. There wasn’t much to do here. Azula wasnt sure what the next move was, but there were things that needed to be drawn before action could be taken. 

The palace at the fire nation capital. It was much like she remembered less a gaudy statue of her father. The way the paths lead by lantern fire flowed like a living flame. It was soft enough to have a cozy warmth like that of the hearth. If she missed anything the most of the old princess lifebit was how home loosened tension. This unfortunately was not a vacation.

Her brother liked to sit near the water where the woman and him sat. Only two kyoshi to guard him, I suppose if azula was an average attacker that would do. Azula could already feel the exhaustion this is going to come from this

She waited seated at the spot he typically stops at. 

“AZULA” ah that raspy broody voice is never, not funny. He growls like a cub caught without a mother. “What are you doing here?! Trying to cause more trouble for me to clean up? Trying to take the throne?

“Oh zuzu all I’m doing is sitting here. Come I wish to speak to you, as civilly as possible. I’ll even allow one of your fangirls chi block my arms.

A laugh broke the tension “that's even funnier the second time around azula” that cheery pitch could only be one person. Azula perked up in her seat.

“Ty lee, im glad you’re here too. Wait that sounded ominous. I mean the sight of you is pleasant.” Not exactly how she thought things would go they were supposed to be separate. “Well that’s best anyway it’d make the noodle arm treatment feel less awkward when it’s someone you know.” 

“Hey that makes this easy”  with two jabs azulas arms and therefore lightning wre off the table.  “I just want you to know. I am still scared of you, but that fear makes me want to stop it.”

“Ah-um ty lee… i don’t expect you to and ill understand if you say no but i'd like to speak with you after.” Azulas voice was gentle when it reached ty lee.

Ty lee paused to glance back. She was shaken at the thought. Of course she would be what else should she be? Happy? She said it herself she was scared of azula and you cant have friends with that or they betray you. 

“Lets try this one first.”

Azula was impressed at how ty lee could not only give a non answer and still leave someone hopeful. After the war, thinking through things during training sessions, azula had a new perspective on ty lee. Azula never doubted her prowess for a second, but being such a skilled people reader and least suspect of manipulation. She was everything azula was not and then some. Where azula scanned for weakness ty lee scanned the person. Where azula would use fear to bend to her will ty lee was playing the long game with positive reinforcement. Azula needed her to know that and more.

“There.” Zuko barked. “Now state your business.”

“Zuzu, you’re not meant for impressions, that was the worst ‘father’ i've ever heard. I'm leaving the capital and maybe even the fire nation. “

“Why?” Zuko was confused, what would be her next move. other nations aren’t helpless and its not like Zuko would leave them to her.

“What is there for me here? Zuko, youre the fire lord ive made my peace with that. You were too soft when you first got the throne, and while not all of my actions were always so benevolent; after a while it was about keeping you on alert dealing with the changing world. Making sure you had fangs. Father, ozai, had beat you to submission for so long and only at the end of the war did you begin standing.

“You think you were helping me? Training me in some insane way?!” Azula knew he’d be this way.

“Heavy lies the crown on the head of the ruler zuko. I should know i had it for a couple hours and lost my mind.” Azula chuckled at the memory. A foolish child who had nobody left to manipulate and nobody she trusted, of course shed crack. “You don't have to believe me. Im not sure I believe me. If i couldn't be the fire lord, I'd help mold him, I thought. You're still too soft with other nations in my opinion but you can manage. You’ve proven that.”

“And why tell me instead of just going?” Zuko had began to calm down, perhaps the avatar was rubbing off on him.

“The very reason i had to have my arms chi blocked. You fear me. Sure, you could fend me off with your friends but you know i am not something you would want to face. Now you know you dont have to look over your shoulder, at least not for me.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Zuko lowered his tone. If azula were plotting it could’ve worked here.

“No. I expect the next few weeks you’ll be on high alert. You’ll be upping security in cities and in constant communication with smaller settlements. Most importantly, you will be training. You Want to know that if we cross blazes, you will win. That is why i am leaving that response to an unseen threat? Exactly as a fire lord should be.” He won't look at it practically, at this point what is there for azula to be here. the only reason to keep this up is to take that throne, the one that broke her, it may be rightfully hers but she was not rightfully its. It was owed to her but she was not owed to it.

“Listen zuko, we’ve both seen ozai for what he is. The man who needed his teenage daughter to take ba sing se because he never could. The shortest reigning fire lord who faced an avatar that had only one year of training on the day he was at his peak. He called you a loser, and always asserted dominance because that was the only way to get people to not see the pathetic incompetent man with good enough luck to have me. Looking at you now he missed an opportunity at a useful tool.”

“People aren’t tools azula.” The father talk began to itch at zukos emotional scabs. 

“That was the way of the house, and you never learned that. You were too blind or stupid to think ‘whats the right answer’. That is why i was favored. Not luck, i played the game. Not unlike my friend ty lee, there did with me. She saw me.” It appears that azula had some scabs still too. She felt like her skin was raw and each word was hard to spit out.

“It doesnt matter” she took a breath “it would shame the fire nation anyway having to change leaders every few years. Just take my words and do what you will with them.”  Azula was done, this had already been more a spectacle than she cared for. 

“Ok, now what you stroll out the front door? We should take you in. That’d interrupt your trip. What now?”

“Oh zuzu, you are so on guard still. Good. I’ve an exit lined up out if the way so nobody questions my presence. If you take me in? Why? So i can escape THEN leave? Just extra steps. I dont mind waiting however. I think we both got something from this conversation.”

The air was warm. Unseasonably warm, its him. Azula wondered if this was coincidence or if he made hes own version of her technique. Now azula was tense. Impressive brother, but these are your options. 

Finally, a high pitched intervention. “Uhum, fire lord zuko she also wanted to have a talk with me too. Maybe while you think about what to do with her I can see what she wants to say.” 

“Are you sure? If she tries something.” Big brother of the year hm. Hopefully mai watches her back azula mused. 

“Zuko im a big girl. Plus you’ll be in holler distance. Just keep an eye out.” Ty lee turned to azula. “Im going to sit next to you now, and if you try to bend at me or kick me i will be very upset.” There it was. Azula looked in awe at how she managed to channel a determined child while making it clear there will be consequences for any transgressions. Azula truly was a fool like her father before her, failing to see what’s right in front of her.

“Hi azula. You wanted to talk?” She tried to keep the pep but ty lee couldn’t help but be nervous. Azula was one Of the most dangerous people in the fire nation. 

“I did. Thank you. Even though you know there’s a chance i could actually be up to something leading to you or something or someone you care about because all youve ever seen from me is wrath. So, thank you.”

“Ppft, im sorry azula I really am and you’re right i wasnt sure but that awkward rambling reminded me of that day at the beach.”

“ARE YOU MOCKING ME?! I came here and let you chi block me. Do yoy you know what this feels like? Limp noodles where my arms should be.”

“No, no, azula i swear it just shows there's still some of the good in you. Your aura is less vlack more a...deep watertribe navy blue. Theres also the temper still i see” ty lee tried not to give azula a reason to get heated. 

“Oh. I see. Well regardless of the context tgat was rude”

“Yes it was, sorry.” She gave azula the eyes that always got to her. 

“Its fine. I may have also been a tiny bit intense there.” Azula hated this. She was a prodigy. Which meant apologies and social interaction were unnecessary. 

“Ok. Lets try again. ‘Now state your business’” imitating zukos growl of a voice. It got a genuine laugh iut of azula. It had been a while since she laughed at all. 

“How do you do that? Just lull people into a state of placation and lowering their guards.” Azula regrouped.

“Its not a trick like you said. Well, mostly not. I do watch people and learn what i can, but its so i dont do anything to start upsetting people. And the rest is just i have a calming aura” 

“So you’re just a pure sweet roll in this terrible world?” Azula was proud. She made a quip that didnt sound threatening. That practice wasnt for nothing at least.

“I dont know about that. All I do know is that if we try the world doesn’t have to be terrible.  You’ve changed azula. I can see it. Not just your aura either. You meant at least half of what you said i can feel it.”

“Half? That's more generous than i would be in your shoes. I appreciate that and would love to girl talk i think time’s coming so ill jump to it. I want you to know the same as zuzu. I dont have plans for revenge for the prison. I also wanted to say… im sorry. You may have noticed my opinion of my father has changed and as his heir, his duplicate its making me think i need to redefine me. Clearly our way didnt work. I held you and mai by a leash and when it came down to it who do you side with the leash wearer or holder. I’m sorry it happened that way and what it’s probably done since, but there it is. 

Ty lee remained silent.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me or even believe me. I just thought, you of all people deserved that much even from a monster like me.” The silence coming from ty lee was worse than any words she could have said. Each second of waiting for any kind of reply was tourture. Ty lee was never the silent type, so as expected she probably won’t accept it. That's fine azula didnt need her to; she didn’t need her or anyone for that matter. Beasts dont always have packs, especially the most vicious ones. 

Ty lee stood up and took a few paces. Azula watched and simply thought ‘there she goes. She may be giving azula an out as a courtesy, ehich is more than she expected.

“You're not a monster.”  Ty lee's silence finally broke. Her tone was quiet and somber. 

“Youre not a good person. Youre Probably one of the worst friends I’ve had, but we were friends. I dont know how much to believe you, but you’ve apologized for hurting my feelings before in more casual moments. The time away may be good for you. I tell you what, I’ll accept your apology for the both of us. I’ll know i gave you one last shred of trust and if how things ended truly bothered you it can stop now.”

Azula was stunned. She shouldn’t have been. That reaction was as textbook as azula threatening a subordinate. Azula should be a little more at peace now, but she isnt. It hurts. Here was a kind strong woman who managed to make something of herself and azula was nothing anymore. A vagrant who couldn’t do what she was raised to do for a few hours. Kindness and compassion were underused thongs for azula but clearly they’re good for something. 

“Ty lee” azula choked on the words. How pathetic. How embarrassing. On the verge of tears because she was not a monster to ty lee. 

“ thank you ty lee. I didnt and still don’t deserve your friendship, but i think you did something to me. I dont know what, but something. You may go if you wish. I think i want to wait and see what zuko has to say”

“I’ll put in a good word for you. You called him ‘zuko’ most of the time you talked to him. You're a bit confusing right now but I think that might be a good thing.”

“Ha, oh ty lee you have too much faith in people. I could still be the monster in your closet. Don't ever change that.” Azula needed everything in her to not cry, not in front of them. Not again. Never again

Ty lee turned back to face azula. “And you have too little faith. That's ok though, i may not need to change but I really hope you are.” She smile md at azula. It was a soft smile like the glow of a candle in the night and just as warm. How she could manage a real smile towards azula was beyond her. It was beautiful and it had a way of crushing azula. 

Ty lee was gone. Not far, as zuko still had to be in the garden somewhere. Azula was glad for that she could breath and focus on the next hurdle. Getting out with noodle arms would be difficult but not impossible. They were so put at ease about the arms they didnt think of any attacks she could do with her legs. If it came down to it she would set enough of a blaze to keep them occupied and run to her escape location. 

Zuko and the others returned. He had a stoney look on his face more grim than broody. Azula cant be surprised its bad news, but it was less than ideal. Ty lee stood next to him. Had she kept her word and gave her a chance? Or was that just to encourage me to stay. She had been bitten once and was twice as shy nowadays.

“Ty lee mentioned your talk went well. Im glad you didnt try to kick or bite her.”

“Zuzu, what do you take me for a platypus bear or something?”

“Or something” zuko remarked. It was a fair enough jab azula decided. 

“She told me you seem lost in the world. If this is true, we can help. Theres the beach house so you dont have to interact with people unless you want to. We can get you treated like someone in our family should be. You can help us do good for a change.”

“Where do you people get this faith?! I do not intend on being a ward or high end prisoner. I do not belong here, and cannot promise you I’ll be what you want. For all we know i'll turn on you like i have a dozen times over.” Azula could not tell if he really was that foolish or if she should be offended at the patronizing proposition. “No, if im to become something, someone, else it has to be away from here.

Zuko stood silent for a moment. “Very well, but i want you to know that any action against a fire nation citizen is an action on me. the way you and i have been going for years seems to only have one end so i hope you mean all of this. You may go on the condition a kyoshi warrior shadows you for a while.”

“The ones in the elaborate dresses, white, make up and golden fans? Im sure theyll be like a shadow in the night. Though I suppose it could be worse. If i get left alone they will be left alone, just so we’re clear.” Azula hated being followed, but if its just for a while she can put up with it. 

“They’ll watch and see if you're just up to old tricks. You'll get a head start and they'll catch up so you won't be sure they are present. If they determine youre no longer a threat they will leave you.”

“Interesting proposal Zuko spoken like a benevolent leader. I accept.” Azula stood up, and was a little off balance because of the arms but they began to come back to her. “I… suppose that's it then brother. I’ll do you a favor and make it so my way in cannot be used again. We may not see eachother again, so farewell. remember, you are the dragon not some toothless herbivore. Dont embarrass us.” There was an awkward melancholy to azulas voice. They were never siblings in the traditional sense and she did try to kill him. A lot. Still, it’ll be sad to not get under his skin anymore even just a little. 

“Goodbye azula. I hope you find whatever you’re looking for. If all of this is true my offer will stand.” 

Azula had nothing to say. She couldn’t. She fully intends to be gone, and yet he leaves the door open? It’s embarrassing, its offensive, and somehow its cruel. Azula living the rest of her days in a place designed to make her complacent? No. She may not want the throne but she will not be a pet.” 

Azula nodded and walked away. He was as good a brother as you could get in this family and she was as bad a sister as you could get in this family. That bridge is burned whether he realizes or not. 

Now all that was left for azula was to decide where to go. That entire exchange left her raw and exhausted. Zuko may have had a point, the beach wasn’t far and a small coma would be nice. A stop off there get some nation neutral clothes and see where the wind take her. It was as good a plan as any for now. 

When she finally reached the shore and looked up the stairs to the childhood beach house the exhaustion set in. How long had it been since she slept? More than 24 hours to be sure. Azula dropped to her knees and felt the sand beneath her. Soft, like ty lee's smile. 

“No.” Azula dismissed. Now was not the time to reminisce. This sand was once a rock. It could have been a rock that punctured war ships sinking them to their doom, or a smaller rock cutting the food of an unwitting beach goers foot. Azula was that rock. Was she being worn down into sand? Was that ok? Everything in this world wears down, so why not her? If she could be half of what this sand was, pleasant soft and comforting perhaps that wouldn't be so bad.

#avatar #avatar the last airbender #atla azula #atla #atla fanfic #ty lee x azula #azula avatar #princess azula #prince zuko #azula and zuko #atla zuko #fire lord zuko #ty lee #ty lee atla #fan fiction #fanfic

[annaadamsauthor713]

What We Do in the Shadows Movie Review

Opening Thoughts

I am so excited to get to return to doing Movie Reviews! I wanted to start off with my most favorite vampire movie of all time; What We Do in the Shadows. This movie is, in my humble opinion, the overall best vampire movie ever made, and I will fill this post with my arguments for this.

Watching Thoughts (Spoiler Alert!)

Such detailed sets and costumes. Lots of love with into this. The first reason this is the overall best vampire movie is because so many different types of vampires are represented, meaning it doesn’t matter what kind of vampires you like, there’s a character in there for every vampire fan. Relate-able. I also have an extreme aversion to dishes. ‘Vampires don’t do Dishes’ is a new motto of mine. Vlad is definitely the most quotable vampire. So many hilarious lines like ‘I was known as Vladislav the Poker.’ I LOVE the opening music in this. Another great thing I love about this movie is the human emotion these vampires seem to explode with. Ah yes, gotta have the sweet vampire x human love story for those romance lovers. Perfectly punctuated with an awkward trumpet. Something that people like to try to hide is the fact that vampires are awkward. By removing all humor, most vampire movies come off as waaaay too hoity-toity. This movie doesn’t take itself so seriously that they can’t make us laugh and enjoy the story they are telling us. They also make fun of the trope that vampirism makes you immediately a hunk or babe. A Trope which I think is a damaging thing. It keeps vampires boring and gate-kept. Where’s my cleft lip vampires? My midget vampires? Vampires with acne scars? Vampires who aren’t the hottest hottie hot who ever hotted hot? What We Do in the Shadows doesn’t have a glass ceiling saying who can and can’ be a part of the hellish legions. I would like a more in-depth look into the media of this universe. If they can find a vampire feeding on a man in the street, what is daily life for humans like there other than needing door-men to keep vampires out of the bar? Why are humans still in town? Does the vampire hunter that comes in later get paid? Is that is day job? And is Anne Rice a vampire in this universe? (Jackie named her daughter Akasha so we have to assume Anne Rice was still famous but was she still human?????) Ah, pedo hunter. That is one of the jobs I would love to have if I was a vampire. Clean up those streets! How does Jackie’s hubby feel about his wife having a master? Viago is a wonderful vampire but I find his method of finding prey to be the creepiest of the flat-mates. He reminds me of the boys who would pretend to like you while they orchestrated how to get you in bed. Every moment had a motive, and no matter what you said about your wants or needs, he’s going to take what he wants. Especially in modern times, vampires are a way to hide our sexuality in fiction, and the manipulative undertones of the romantic vampire did not escape my notice. Peter moves so smoothly through the window all I can imagine is him being pushed on a skateboard to get that silhouette. Which makes me laugh every time. The dinner scene is my favorite. Absolutely hilarious notes on virginity, mispronunciation of spaghetti, a great and blatant theft from the Lost Boys, and some really great special effects. By far the funniest scene in the movie. Not to mention, it runs into the best dance sequence of all time lol. Deacon and I would be best buds. As you may end up noticing in my novels, I am HERE for vampire turning scenes. I love how different it is for every story and even every vampire. Such a personal and extreme experience. I love it. When I was a kid I loved the idea that vampires can fly, but now that I am an adult I can only accept it if vampirism is a magical infection, not a scientific one. Luckily, these vampires can do all kinds of magic tricks so it’s fine and doesn’t bother me. Stew tickles me pink. He’s so confused. What would a modern vampire story be without the dance club? Sad and without dancing, that’s what. What is the point of living forever if you don’t truly enjoy the arts? I like the idea that the arts move vampires differently than people because it is the only way they can truly connect to humans, and their eternal lives allow them to have deeper layers of emotions that are stroked by artistic immersion. We even get a little vampires vs werewolf action for those who like that enemy dynamic (even though vampires and werewolves are rooted in the exact same myths, let them keep imagining this fight. Says a lot about the nature of humans to fight the self.) If a lion can be friends with a gazelle when not starving, so can a vampire be friends with a person, and I am here for it. Go Stew. Deacon and Nick are so similar in the root of who they are. Deacon is jealous of Nick and Nick is jealous of Stew. Deacon is just older and more careful. I would be a terrible vampire. People already grow up too fast around me while I sit in my house in dark rooms lol. My human pets would die left and right while I just kinda lost sense of time. Enter the other reason this movie is so good. Up until now it has been very funny with a few moments of gore and questionable morality. But now we get to see some sadness, which no vampire movie should be without. This movie balances humor with some gut wrenching scenes, like here where Nick can’t eat his favorite food anymore. They take a funny puking scene and make it sad and relate-able. The romance of vampires is stripped in this movie and they are shown for us for what they truly are or can be if we just let them; complex, strange, sat monsters that can hold our secret human feelings. Vampires help us explore humanity, sexuality, and mortality. They are our fears and our desires. They are us. Death is what all vampires truly embody. Our fear of death and the inevitability of it. Our desire to live forever no matter the cost, and the horrid truth that no matter how long you live, the sun will find you one day. The head blur was a good and simple trick to simulate turning a head 180 degrees. Even the vampires reacting to a house visit from the police is relate-able. ‘You will not notice anything out of the ordinary,’ she said under her breath, scooting the bong under the couch with her foot. They are very good at softening very sad scenes with humor, and toning down funny scenes with sadness, another thing many vampire movies struggle to do. I would have loved a little promo pamphlet of Wellington Vampire Laws. I would have read that shit out of that. We all have our Beasts, lol. I love that the ball is held in just some rental hall like a regular ol wedding or something. Not in a cemetery or an old gothic hall. Nope, there’s finger sandwiches and banners. I wish they would have touched on the fact that they treat witches as inhuman? I wanna know more. Again, vampires embody our fear of death, which includes our fear of age. It is inevitable, that as you age, you will outlive your friends, or they will outlive you. No one escapes without losing someone. Vampires allow us to face and figure out that fear a little bit (hopefully) before it happens to us and our loved ones. Loss is universal. No vampire movie could contend for overall best without exploring loss and how it deeply effects our lives. And we can’t feel loss without first feeling love. Loss and love are at the heart of what a vampire needs to touch our hearts. Without it they are just monsters. But a perfect movie wouldn’t end on a sour or somber note, in my opinion, and What We Do in the Shadows delivers a lovely and light-hearted wrap-up to the best vampire movie ever made.  

Closing Thoughts

It doesn’t matter what kind of vampire fan you are, whether you’re an Anne Rice fan, only like pre-1900’s vamps, a fan of the vamp vs wolf stories, or a twi-hard, you have something for you in this movie. If you like romance, or the chase, or drama, or comedy, you have something for you here. If you like theater art or music, this movie has lots of special effects, acting tricks, and amazing music. It explores deep themes while never losing the pace of humor. It has adult jokes but not so many you couldn’t show it to your mom. And the credits aren’t boring, filled with more scenes and great jams. Leave a comment, reblog, or send me an ask and tell me; what do you think is overall the best vampire movie ever made. Do you agree with me or do you have something else in mind?

#movie review #what we do in the shadows #vampire movie #vampire movies #movie reviews #vampires #vampire #my writing #movie review aa713

[theateared]

It’s Fine.  I Can Wait. ❜

Summary:  Certain things make Moxie a little less angry.

    “You’re being moody again.”

    Since Edgar had returned from hunting, Moxie hadn’t spared him a word.  His place behind the bar was begrudging, back remaining to him as he scrubbed the surface with more force than necessary.  Edgar briefly considered telling him to watch for scratch marks but promptly decided that it didn’t matter.  To hell with it.  People are drunk here anyway.  They’re not going to notice an imperfection that small.

    Still no response, he thought to himself as he watched his packmate busy himself with meaningless tasks.  He flitted around the counter like a fly, cleaning already-washed surfaces, moving things slightly to the side, skirting around tables as if he’d kick up enough dust to warrant wiping them down for a second time.  The Alpha barely held back a chuckle of amusement, tall form hunched over the counter as his cheek nestled into his palm.

    “Moxie.  I know you’re upset,”   he tried again, voice light, almost sing-song, as if it was being carried by a breeze.   “Are you going to speak on your own terms or should I pry until you snap?  Because you will snap.  Like an itty-bitty twig.  Tck!  Just like that.”

    Briefly, his friend’s shoulders squared, though his back remained to him.  Edgar smirked, head tilting against his palm.

    “It’s fine.  I can wait.”

    All at once, the hunter whipped around and flung his rag in the Alpha’s direction. Edgar watched with an aloof smile as the material gathered air, fluttering to the ground some distance away from the counter.  His eyes shifted from the spot it had fallen to Moxie’s face as his hands slammed against the solid oak that formed the bar-top.

    “I’m PISSED OFF, Edgar--”

    “Mhm.”

    “-- this fuckin’ bullshit, livin’ here in Huron--  even if it’s only temporary, I feel like a goddamn CIRCUS ACT!”   Although he was angry, he had the sense not to bare his teeth at the other lye.  The last thing he needed was to provoke his leader.  Quickly, he reared back, before he could make a mistake that he wouldn’t be able to rectify.   “Don’t you feel STUPID?  We’re dancin’ round these motherfuckers like fuckin’--  ballerinas, or some shit!  It’s really gettin’ on my NERVES!”   His arms extended high above his head as if he was about to scream, though all he did was stare at the ceiling for a few seconds before continuing on, leaning close.  His voice dropped to a low, raspy rumble.   “Do you know how many fights I’ve had to not have just to stay doin’ this shitty job that nobody wants to fuckin’ do?  This shit’s embarrassin’, Edgar.  Y’hear me?  Embarrassin’.  We’re fuckin’.  Lyes.  There’s no reason we should be pussy-footin’ like this.”

    “Hm.”   Though he hated to admit it, he harboured some similar frustration.  However, the one thing he had above most of his kind was his brain.  In general, lyes were an aggressive specie; they would rather fight to the death for something than work out an arrangement.  Naturally, a lot of weight fell on an Alpha’s ability to defend their creed members from harm.  The way Edgar saw it, it was better to minimise threats than it was to craft plans to combat them. With less enemies to deal with, the creed’s safety naturally increased.

    Slowly, Edgar stood up straight, turning around and locating an all-too-familiar bottle of whiskey.  He may as well have renamed it at this point -  Moxie’s Kryptonite.

    “Tell me something,”   he said levelly as he began to pour his frustrated friend a drink. Despite the serving regulations, Edgar filled the glass until the liquid sat just shy of the brim. Putting it down gracefully, he turned back around to look at him.   “How long have we been friends now?”

    Moxie huffed, a hand wrapping unceremoniously around his drink, bringing it close to his lips.   “Too fuckin’ long...”   he muttered before downing the contents of his glass.  Only when it was empty did he continue:   “I don’t know.  Centuries, probably.”

    “And in all that time, how many times have I done something that has put my creed in jeopardy?”

    “...”   Whether one liked him or not, Edgar was a respectable leader.  In fact, Moxie would hazard a guess and say that he was the best he could have wound up with.  In his previous creed, his Alpha had been a flight risk.  Though his strength was impressive-- he had once killed a band of six rival hunters single-handedly-- he’d been nothing short of a moron.  His foolhardy ways had cost a lot of his own their lives.  It didn’t help that his means of compensation was mating with those that remained in exchange for their silence.  Edgar, on the other hand, was different.  Not only did he possess a great deal of power, the way his mind worked was unheard of in their community.  To him, he resembled a renowned chess player - a renowned chess player with a body count.   “...’s not like I can say...”   he finished lamely.

    “Yes.  I suspected as much,”   Edgar replied, re-filling his glass.   “And so with that in mind, I would implore you to have a little more faith in me.”   His hand wrapped around the stool tucked beneath the counter, drawing it close enough to sit on.  Slightly more comfortably, he once again leaned on his elbow, head cocked slightly to the side as he stared at the other.  In a patient tone:   “Rest assured, there is a reason for every decision I make.  It pays to be  CLEVER  in this day and age, not a barbarian.  This truce with Huron serves a practical function.  While it continues to do so, these people are not our enemy.”

    Less enemies, less trouble.  That was the way the wild worked.  He doubted many understood that, though he suspected he was only privy to such a thought because he had existed in a different way before this.  Had the No-Mans been all he knew, he likely would have striven for brute strength and nothing more.

    Moxie sighed softly.   “I dunno, boss.  What happened to all the fun we used to have? Tearin’ out throats, takin’ names later?”

    “Don’t talk about the glory days as if they’ve long passed, friend,”   Edgar tutted, reaching forward to pat his arm.   “We’ll have our fun, just in the proper way, at the proper time.  Like gentlemen.  Understand?”

    Sullenly, Moxie nodded his head.

    “Do cheer up,”   the Alpha continued, rising from his seat.   “I have a surprise for you.”

    He watched the other lye’s head incline, normally squinted eyes round with curiosity.  After a moment of silence:   “You know I hate surprises.  What is it?”

    “Ah-ah-ahh!”   Edgar all but sang, ever-present smile splitting into a fully-fledged grin.  He whipped around the bar like a falcon, taloned fingers resting atop Moxie’s shoulders and pulling him up to his feet.   “This was the reason I came looking for you.  It would be senseless to give it away just like that.  Put on your dancing shoes.”

    “My what?”

    He didn’t get the chance to ask anything else as Edgar pushed him along.

                                                                     _____

    “... the fuck am I lookin’ at?”   Moxie asked, eyes squinting hard at the foreign object.  It was tall, and he wondered briefly how he had missed it.  Edgar must have had it moved to the tavern that day while he’d been out hunting for food.  It stood in the corner, arched shape casting an ominous shadow onto the ground.  Pronounced decals lined its edges, a peculiar blend of red, yellow and green, and when Edgar shifted forwards to press one of the many buttons, it made a noise.  Moxie’s ears stood straight up, as if startled.

    “This, my friend, is a jukebox,”   Edgar said, gesturing for the hunter to come closer.  He did so hesitantly, eyes moving across the new object with distrustful fascination.   “It plays music.”   Gently, he pressed another button, the screen lighting up.  The song selection jumped straight to titles that began with L in accordance to what Edgar had selected.   “I figured we could use some ambience for this place.  Nothing livens a scene up quite like music.”

    Moxie watched with a hint of interest.  Edgar knows which buttons to press already…  I have to learn too.   “So what, y’thought a bunch’a noise would help soothe my headaches?”

    “Oh, come.  Don’t be so sour!  I know you love music!”

    It was a strange truth, but a truth nonetheless.  Lyes didn’t often have access to things like that.  There was no such thing as ‘art’ when you came from the wild.  The closest thing you could get to that was a fresh corpse.  Nevertheless, he had heard guitars in the woods before. Ambitious campers or Edgar’s weird friend, he wasn’t sure,  but the point was that he enjoyed the sound.  Though he hadn’t been vocal about it, he knew that his Alpha was likely to notice. He often did, for reasons that escaped him.

    What do you care?  You’re the one with the power.

    “Choose a song!  Any song?  Let’s dance the night away!”

    “I ain’t dancin’.  Especially not with you,”   Moxie huffed, though a hand had already stuck out to toggle with the arrow keys.  He recognised none of the titles, selecting one at random, seeming to jump slightly when the device began to make noise.  Despite being told what it did, it still surprised him to be so close to something so loud.   “Woah.”

    “Grand, isn’t it?”   Edgar exclaimed, spinning in a circle as if inviting him into his personal space.  The hunter scoffed, moving away, though his tail began to sway without his say-so. While he couldn’t see him, Edgar gave him a puzzled kind of smile;  the sort that expressed a deep confusion despite its contentment.  Truthfully, he didn’t understand why Moxie was so standoffish.  He likely had his reasons, but he had no clue what they were.  He felt as if there was a tragic sort of distance between them, one filled with a daunting vacancy that lingered long after a stale goodbye.

    Why do you refuse to have a good time?  Why do you only let pleasure visit you in small, controlled doses?  Why are your claws drawn around somebody who has sworn to protect you?

    He watched as Moxie trudged back behind the bar, half expecting him to begin working again. However, all he did was slump against it, tail swinging from side to side like a macabre metronome;  jagged point catching the lamp-light, glinting like an age-old dagger.  This was as calm as he could get.

    “... decent investment,”   he allowed, hard stare fixed on the wall.  The last thing he wanted to do was feed an Alpha’s ego.  In his experience, the more you did that, the harder you fell when it inevitably shot to their head.  They abused their power almost as easily as they fucked  -  without reason, without warning, and wholly in their best interests.   “It’ll drown out these lousy drunkards’ voices a little.”

    “That it will, my friend!”   He was already busy flipping through tracks on his own accord, grin now eager, genuinely invested.  If there was one thing he would always have room for, it was music.  From the moment he’d decided that a tavern was the establishment that worked most in favour with his desires, he’d known at some point that he would invest in a player of some sort.  Failing that, he would have talked to his talented musician friend about playing live on certain nights.

    Perhaps I should still do that.  Murr would probably be over the moon about it anyway.  It would give him another distraction  -  and me a source of pleasure.  Everybody wins.

    So focused with the jukebox, he missed the slacken of Moxie’s jaw;  the way he nuzzled his cheek into his palm, ears bent in the direction of the sound as his Alpha flitted through song previews, tail swish-swish-swishing like a reed behind his head.  A rare tranquillity had befallen him, one that only visited people in their dreams.

    You’re a weird Alpha, he thought to himself, watching Edgar’s face light up as he found a ragtime track that seemed to resonate with him.  It’s almost as if you care about us.

#🞮 — if i could i'd trade my heart for a second brain. ❜ ( edgar. ) #🞮 — i get lost in the nothingness inside of me. ❜ ( moxie. ) #☆ — i never promised you your dream boy. ❜ ( main. ) #☆ — i'm just here to destroy. ❜ ( ic. ) #drabble * #/ idk dude i wanted to write about them #i need to do more dev stuff with both of them explaining how their bond changed from just packmates to friends #but for now you get this tiny thing #it's small and i'm not entirely happy with it but i don't think i can shape it up any more

[mummified-game-review]

Haque: A review

It was funny one summer of anime I was reading this really cute manga about this girl who maxed out her level by killing nothing but slimes, the same time as everyone was getting into that other anime call “that time i was reincarnated as a slime” super weird that these things happened fairly close to each other.

Oh well let's talk about fighting some slimes.

Welcome back to another video here on Mummified games. My name is Tony and today we're going to be taking a look at the RPG Roguelike Haque by Super Try.

This is another one of these roguelikes where you are asked to pick one of three characters to go run though these dungeons. And try to get as far as you can.

The game has a heavy retro feel to it. And I mean heavy retro as in they let you turn on CRT scan lines and a faux dirty screen to make it feel super rough and hard to see...

Ah yes the anarcho-retro style. So in love with old graphics that were going to actively make the experience as basic as possible on your nice clean 1080p monitors and TVs. The chaotic Evil of game graphics.

Luckily if you don't want to play with dust and crap all over your screen, then grab some monitor cleaner

And if you don't want the fake dirt in the game then you can turn it all off along with the CRT scanlines. Doing this will make it all crisp clean sharp pixels.

Anyway moving on from that small personal setting.

The game starts when you first load it up asking you to impot the date. But no matter what you type it does the right date. And that was cool when it happened. You can just press the same key over and over again to progress though this intro but it might also be fun to just pretend you're inputting these commands.

I don't have any video of this because I started playing the game and forgot to hit the record button on OBS. So yeah. Sorry.

So once you’re in I highly recommend you play the tutorial and figure out what everything means. The symbols and art that exist in this game are fine. And once you know what they stand for it makes sense, but just jumping right into the game can be a little deep.

The controls are fairly simple, similar to the controls of a game that I reviewed earlier called Midboxx where you can click around your character, selecting the squares around them and moving to the next squares. And also attacking this way.

Hitting “I” will bring up your inventory and you can also see what you have equipped. Similar to all the other RPGs that are out there.

All the actions you can do are bound to 1 through 4 and also Q W E R at the top left of the keyboard. Compared to ability buttons in some MOBA or MMO games.

QWER being reserved for special skills that your equipped items give you. And then there are 1 through 4 that are quick locations for consumable items. Examples being positions and other limited uses items.

There is a companion that comes with you that fights the monsters you might see in the dungeons.

But that's sort of the basics. There are tons of skills and items that you could use in the game that you could just hold right click over and they explain the spell.

Once you get out of the tutorial the actual game starts with you picking one of 3 different random skilled and stats characters at the start. They’re nowhere near your typical archetypal characters, sometimes you can get a sorcerer that is a great fighter. Sometimes you can get a Necromancer Mushroom that spews spores everywhere. And then there sometimes is a werewolf that you can play as, also.

It's hard to tell you about this game because there isn't a lot that sets it apart from other Roguelikes there are.

The music is fairly basic, and now that I stopped playing the game I could not tell you what any of it sounded like. I know there was a sort of chime sounding song that would play in the shops and that was different from the other songs.

Oh there is a fun idea they put into the shop mechanic.

There's no money or currency in this game. So the shopping experience is a barter deal. Where you select the item you want to buy and then select the items you would want to trade for it. And the game gives you a percentage of if that deal would go through or not. That's actually interesting.

Especially since the chance of the trade going through is the same window in the game where they show you the likelihood of the attack you're about to do will land or not. So that's fun.

There's a sight range thing... *sigh*

There is just nothing to really talk about in this one. It's all just more dungeon crawling fighting more enemies.

There is a story going on with the program being corrupted. And there is an old man that I was halfway through level 3 or 4 when I was thinking okay when is he going to turn on me? And turns out to be a bad guy.

Idk why i thought that might happen but after beating the level one skeleton boss he said something to me that i thought was super ominous. All while the screen was glitching out a bit. Very weird.

Having played this for about an hour and a half I didn't get really far into the story part of this Roguelike. Again a fault of the genre. Your story can't be super long or hard to reach if the player is going to die over and over again.

While playing this game I found myself taking into account the same fighting style that I adopted in Crypt of the Necrodancer. Where if the monster i'm fighting is about to attack i just move back one and they have to spend their turn to move forward.

The problem with this strategy is that the game does not clearly show you how long it is until the other character will take their turn. So you might move back one and then it turns out you have more time until they do their thing.

I feel like this one is going to be the same thing I say about most of the games that came in the Racial Justice Bundle. If you bought that bundle then sure go play this game since you have it. Go find it in your collection and give it a whirl.

But as for a recommendation to go out and pick it up. I'd say unless you really need that crunchy pixel roguelike RPG in your life then sure. If not then I'd give this a pass.

If you played this game, what were your thoughts on it?

If you haven't played this game, are there any other aggressively retro games out there that you would want me to try. Let me know in the comments.

IN THE MEANTIME!

I just remembered I never did a Tournament update at the end of July. I think that since i didn't do a full month i'm going to wait till the end of August. That way I have a bunch to filter though. Not as much as the first one obviously but still a good chunk to push forward with.

I'm sure ill get to another tool or book review soon if anyone was looking for more of those. I'm giving myself a little bit of time every day to read though some of the actual books in this bundle. The next Book club might not be a bundle but a full book by its self. Obviously i'll keep you informed.

But for now you all do the youtube dance Like, Sub, Bell, Comment, share with someone you know.

And as always friends, keep digging and we’ll make it out sometime

See you in the next one.

#Itch.io #indie games #video #game #videogame #games #Tony #Add Free #Cult Classic #Fantasy #GameMaker #glitch #Pixel Art #Roguelike #Mummified #Youtube

[asflowersfade]

Ficlet: By His Side (Always)

A MacGyver ficlet. This one means a lot to me. I don’t even know why. 

So many changes in their lives. Mac’s still an asset, Jack’s still his bodyguard. Everything else’s different. A future fic. Jack’s POV.

It’s those damn birds that wake him up, again, screeching their little hearts out right outside his window, those sick bastards. He would throw a shoe at them, again, but he still hasn’t found the last one yet.

With a groan, Jack rolls onto his side and peers at the alarm clock blearily. 6.37 am. Jesus tap-dancing Christ, he’s too old for this shit.

He could try falling asleep again but it wouldn’t do, he knows, he’s too cranky now. And so, with a resigned sigh, he crawls out of bed and stretches carefully, enjoying the cracks and pops in his joints and the ache in his muscles. Then he scratches his belly and gives his near future a deep thought: shower or coffee? And since they’ve just had yet another hot summer night and he feels as sticky as a well roasted marshmallow, he decides that shower it is. And heads for the adjoining bathroom.

Showered and brushed - shaving’s reserved for special occasions these days - Jack dresses in clean clothes - he really needs to do laundry soon - shoving a gun into his side holster - just a precaution - and heads for the kitchen to make coffee.

The open-space kitchen slash living room’s already full of bright sunlight when he steps out of the short hallway leading up to the bedrooms in the “west wing” as they like to call the left side of their cabin. The “east wing”, the right side of their home, is pretty much a mirror image in design, only there’s just one big room there instead of two smaller ones.

And by said room’s door, there in the shadowy recess of the opposite hallway, there’s a small red light blinking, signaling a transmission in progress. It makes Jack pause and lift an eyebrow. He wonders how long that’s been going on. He should check it out but first, coffee!

He starts the state of the art coffeemaker going - he insisted on that one; before, he used to drink any sludge available, as long as there was caffeine in it, but these days, he likes to actually enjoy his coffee, thank you very much! - and then he heads for the living room with its comfy furniture, a big stone fireplace - and an even bigger TV! Another thing he insisted on.

While the coffeemaker’s doing its thing, burbling and hissing quietly on the counter, Jack switches the TV on and several smaller screens pop up on the big one: surveillance in black and white, cameras set at various angles all around the cabin and the surrounding woods; one’s even aimed down at the lake. All seems to be working right, all looks clear. Later on, he’ll have to go through the night feeds in greater detail, just to be sure, but not before coffee.

The coffeemaker beeps cheerily and Jack walks around the counter to pour himself a mug. Oh yes, he thinks as he closes his eyes in pure bliss, inhaling the strong aroma of a really good coffee, living the good life. Then he pours another cup, grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge and heads for the “east wing” and for their very own “war room” there.

He has to fumble with the mugs and the bottle for a bit to press his right hand to the scanner by the door, but finally the door clicks softly and then unseals itself with a little hiss of pressurized air. He nudges the door with his hip.

Walking in, Jack has to pause and let his eyes adjust; the room’s dark - there’re no windows in here and the lights are off - and he would hate to trip, considering the floor is sunken a good three feet below the main level. It’s all done as a precaution, for protection, just like everything else in the cabin. From what Jack understands, a missile could hit their home and this room would survive, maybe a little shaken in its proverbial boots but otherwise intact.

There’s a wall of screens opposite the door, glowing with images of a… desert, it seems. Someone with a camera - probably clipped to his or her vest - is running, hiding, then running again, headed for a ramshackle building, barely discernible in the gathering twilight. If it’s a live feed, it must be somewhere in... Asia? Probably, considering the time difference. Then the camera catches a glimpse of another figure, running along - a man in a desert camo. Ah, Jack thinks, one of those missions…

Finally able to see again, he walks down the steps and heads for the ergonomic chair, made of real leather so buttery soft it makes one want to weep, facing the screens. “Here,” he whispers, handing over one of the mugs.

Mac looks up with a grateful smile and accepts it, wrapping his right hand tightly around the handle. “Thanks,” he whispers back, inhaling deeply; yeah, even Mac learned to appreciate good coffee.

Soft voices are rasping out of the speakers, issuing and accepting orders. Jack sets the bottle of water down on the small table by the chair, then he taps at his ear and points at the screen in a “Can they hear us?” gesture.

Mac takes a little sip of his coffee - it’s still rather hot - and setting the cup down on the table next to the water bottle, he switches something off on the console that seems a part of the chair. “Now they can’t. We have a moment before they need me again,” he says.

“What’s going on?” Jack asks, watching the men, US soldiers from the look of it, sneak closer to the building. There’re two very quiet puffs and a lookout by the door drops dead, then the one at the corner of the house.

Mac points at the screens with his right hand, his left one cradled in his lap. “That’s a terrorist hideout,” he informs Jack simply. “Based on our intel, these people might’ve gotten their hands on a live nuke. The guys had to get in right away to grab it, they couldn’t wait for an expert to arrive and accompany them so…”

“They called you,” Jack finishes for him.

“Yeah,” Mac says. “I got the call at two in the morning, while they were already on the plane. We’ve been going through the basics ever since. Luckily, one of them went through an EOD training so they won’t be going in completely blind.”

Mac reaches out for his mug to take another sip - and in the glow of the screens Jack catches the little twist of Mac’s lip, the tightness in his face as he sets the mug down again, the tremble in his left leg as he tries to find a more comfortable position.

“How’s the pain?” Jack asks, aiming straight for the heart of the matter. 

Now Mac grimaces openly but he also answers truthfully; he’s learned long ago not to lie to Jack about these things, he learned it the very hard way. “Bad,” he admits, sighing. “I haven’t had the time to take my meds yet.”

“Alright. Do you want them now or once this is over?” Jack points at the screens with his chin.

“After,” Mac replies immediately. “They need to get out of there within the next hour or so or they’re all dead anyway, bomb or not. Besides, I need my head clear for this. It is a live nuke we’re talking about here.”

Jack nods. “Fine. I’ll make breakfast and have your meds waiting for you in an hour.”

Mac grimaces again. “I’m not really hungry.”

“Egg-white omlets it is, then. With sausages and pepper. And hash browns,” Jack adds, enjoying the look of horror on Mac’s face; yup, he’s in for a lecture about cholesterol over breakfast. Honestly, he can’t wait.

“9-1-1, you there?” a voice crackles out of the speakers.

Mac flips the switch on his console back on. “Yes. What’s your status?”

“Two guards down, two to go. Geiger Counter quiet.”

Smiling, Mac replies, “That’s good, team leader. We’ll have you on your way back, safe and sound, in no time.”

Jack stands there a moment longer, watching the men on the screens take out two more bad guys and then enter the building. That used to be him, during his Delta Force days, then later on working for the CIA and in Afghanistan, spying for the Phoenix Foundation, and a part of him misses it, the action and the thrill. But another part, a much bigger part, is glad to be where he is right now.

He pats Mac on the shoulder and heads out, mug in hand, to let the kid focus on his job.

Jack takes his coffee out, down to the lake, and walks along the pebbled shore for a while. He has his phone on him, should Mac need anything, but Jack would be of no help to him right now. Assisting people in the field, that’s Mac’s job; under the code name 9-1-1 he seems to have made a name for himself over the last few years. But he also made new enemies. And it’s Jack’s job to make sure that nobody gets to him, just like always. Only these days, they don’t run around the world anymore, no. The world needs to come to them.

His phone rings and Jack pulls it out of his pocket with a smile. A special ringtone for a special person. “Hey, Matty. What are you doing up so early?” He stares across the lake, sipping his coffee and breathing in the fresh air with relish.

“Some of us are actually working, Dalton,” she snaps back playfully. “But why are you up at this hour? You’ve never been a morning person. I would’ve loved to wake you up and make you miserable.”

“You would!” Jack replies, chuckling. “It’s those damn birds, Matty. I swear, one of these days I’ll just shoot them all and make myself a roast!”

She laughs too. Then she asks, “How’s our boy wonder?” Her tone’s light but there’s genuine concern for Mac there. She’s always worried but much more so ever since the explosion that almost killed Mac, scarring him both physically and mentally for life.

“Working at the moment,” he says simply, not going into details. This might be a secure line but even those have ears these days.

“But how is he?” Matty asks again. She’s not asking about his job for the army and the various alphabet soup agencies. She’s asking about Mac as a person.

Jack sighs, still staring out across the lake. “Not getting any better, physically.”

“We knew that, Jack,” she says softly. “The doctors did tell us that this was as good as it would ever get.”

Pausing for a moment, Jack says, “I know. It’s just killing me, seeing him like this. I would switch places with him in a heartbeat if I could but I can’t and-and sometimes, sometimes that makes me so mad I want to punch something.” He takes a harsh breath and lets it out. “But I learned to be grateful that he’s still alive. Small miracles and all that.”

“Yeah,” Matty responds. “You said physically. How about the other stuff?”

Jack takes a gulp of his coffee, now only lukewarm. “His nightmares are almost gone. His PTSD’s getting better, too, slowly. The peace and quiet around here helps. He’s still not ready for big crowds, though. Not after--”

Not after the bomb that he couldn’t disarm and that almost killed him - and that did kill five people down in Miami. The Ghost’s present and his revenge in one. The madman finally found a bomb that Mac couldn’t defuse. It was almost the same scenario as in Mac’s house all those years before - two bombs, connected through a wireless receiver - almost but for two slight modifications: a motion sensor and, most importantly, a timer ticking down fast. 

Disarm this one and the other one, hidden somewhere else, will blow up. Let this one explode and the other one will deactivate on its own. Control the number of casualties or leave it to fate. Choose, MacGyver, choose...

Mac made a judgment call. He let the one he found go. He let the timer run out while they tried to evacuate as many people as possible from the bus terminal where it was found. Still, five people didn’t make it and Mac, too, got caught in the blast. The other bomb, they found it in a hospital later on. It would’ve killed many, many more people if it exploded. Still, Mac never forgave himself.

But they never talk about this, at least not with the others, about The Aftermath. About the weeks Jack spent in the hospital, at Mac’s bed, trying to keep his best friend alive through sheer force of will. It was a dark time, between the explosion and Matty’s new job offer. Because when it became clear that Mac would never be able to go back in the field, there came the question, now what?

Jack turns to look at their log cabin. It was built with the help of the Phoenix Foundation, the men and women who usually maintained safe houses - which this turned out to be for Mac. A sanctuary, a workplace, a new home. Jack and Bozer helped with the rough jobs while Riley and Cage outfitted the house with the best tech and best security measures, their little family banding together to help one of their own.

And then they moved in and Mac became an asset of a different kind, always there, always knowing what to do, just a phone call away, but safe, hidden in the middle of nowhere and with Jack guarding him both from his enemies and his inner demons alike.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment, phone still pressed to his ear. He’s been quiet for a while but Matty’s waiting him out, she understands. She knows when to push and when not. And he’s never loved the woman more than in this moment.

“He would like to see you guys in person again,” Jack says, opening his eyes and looking up at the blue, blue sky. “He misses you. And so do I.”

“And we miss you, too,” Matty replies softly. “The team’s on a mission right now but once they’re back, we would love to come for a visit.”

“Speaking of which, how are they doing?” he asks, smiling a little.

There’s a smile in Matty’s voice, too, when she replies, “They’re doing great, Jack. Cage, Riley and Bozer have become one of our best teams.”

“Not as good as me and Mac, though, right?” Jack protest, mock affronted.

“No, Jack. No one’s better than you two, I promise,” she says kindly and it makes Jack’s chest feel warm.

Then he sees the cabin door open and Mac steps out onto the back porch. Leaning heavily on his cane, he walks up to the railing and waves down at Jack, just a little with his weak left hand before he curls it around his midriff again. In the bright morning sun the scars covering the whole left side of his body seem more visible than ever and Jack’s heart aches for his friend again.

But at the same time, seeing Mac there, alive and actually smiling down at him, makes him happy. Mac’s here and he’s safe, despite everything, which is much better than the alternative. Jack lifts his mug in acknowledgment - his coffee’s now gone cold - and starts heading up the slope, back towards the cabin again.

“I gotta go, Matty,” he says into the phone. “His Highness left the audience room and will be expecting breakfast now.”

She laughs a little. “Tell Mac I said hi.” But then she sobers a little and asks him the same question she asks every time. “Do you regret it?”

Jack doesn’t need to ask what. Do you regret leaving your job? Do you regret moving out here where there’s nothing but trees and ducks? Do you regret giving up your whole life to guard this brilliant broken nerd whom you couldn’t love more if he were your own flesh and blood?

And his answer is the same as always. “No.”

Then he hangs up, and putting his phone away, he runs up the slope, chiding Mac before he even reaches him, “You said I had an hour!”

Mac, who’s standing there, waiting for him, shrugs. “It was easier than I expected. When they said ‘live nuke’ I thought it would be something actually complicated. Turns out it wasn’t. But do you really want to hear about that?”

Jack walks across the porch and holds the door open for Mac, who hobbles inside, his cane tap-tap-tapping against the hardwood. “Do I want to hear about a nuke on the other side of the world? Hm, let me think. Did it go kaboom? No? That’s enough for me.

“Oh, by the way, Matty says hi,” Jack adds as he passes Mac on his way to the kitchen. 

Grimacing a little, Mac sits down on one of the stools at the counter. “Did you talk about me?” he asks, a little annoyed.

Unruffled, Jack replies, pouring Mac a glass of apple juice, “Always.”

Mac glares at him but then his frown turns into a grateful little smile when Jack sets the glass down in front of him together with several pills of various shapes and colors.

“So, breakfast, then!” Jack says, rubbing his hands. It’s not a question. Mac’s appetite hasn’t been what it used to be since the incident and if it were left up to him, he would exist on dry toast only.

Mac swallows a pill and nods, replying as expected, “A toast will do.”

Jack laughs. “Think again, buddy.”

Smiling, Mac suggests a compromise. “And... blueberry jam?”

“No food that turns any part of your body blue can be good for you!” Jack states, shaking his head, mock disturbed.

“And all that fat clogging your arteries is?” Mac asks with raised eyebrows.

Jack points a finger at him. “But at least I can’t see that!”

“No, but you’ll definitely feel it very soon,” Mac retorts. “At the very least once you have to buy new pants because your old ones popped at the seams.”

Narrowing his eyes, Jack leans against the counter threateningly. “Are you calling me fat, kid?”

Unafraid, Mac points out, “I think your new wardrobe speaks for itself.”

“Says the noodle with the skinny ass!” Jack snaps back.

They keep it up, glaring at each other, a second or two longer. And then they burst out laughing and Jack reaches out across the counter to ruffle Mac’s hair fondly. Jesus, he loves the kid. And whatever lies ahead, Jack’s exactly where he wants to be, by Mac’s side.

#macgyver #angus macgyver #jack dalton #matty webber #thehemingwaygoldfish #my fics #my macgyver fics

[fanwright]

Sokkla FMA AU

This one is pretty long. Click “read more” for the full story.

Resenbool never struck Azula as particularly significant place. 

As far as her eyes could see the rolling hills stretched out in all directions like a vast green sea, the tall grasses swaying gently in the spring sun, trees rustling in the breeze. She could almost pretend like the war never touched this place, if it weren’t for the occasional crater the farmers in the area worked their fields around.

The parking brake groaned as she pulled the lever up, killing the engine with the turn of a key as the harsh metallic chatter of the pistons died away. As Azula opened the door to her automoblie she could hear bells clatter in the distance as a lone shepherd rushed his flock along, sheep baying as they marched away. Quaint living. Green, innocent, and unmolested. The sands of Ishval seemed so far away, distant as a half-remembered dream. 

Azula sighed, breathing in the air as her gaze settled upon the portly old shepherd, the past echoing through her. If she could truly forget.

She didn’t miss the look in the old man’s eyes as he quickly turned away, waddling behind his flock. Disgust, fear, hatred, it didn’t matter. It was all the same to her. She wasn’t welcomed by most in Resenbool, but they would, under penalty of imprisonment or death, tolerate her presence. After all, a State Alchemist was backed by the central government’s authority - a living weapon, ready to be unchained and let loose upon Amestria’s enemies.

Just as they were let loose in Ishval.

Boots crunching against the dirt path up to the small cottage, Azula stopped in front of the door, just shy of knocking on the wood. Her automotive arm shook, joints grinding and chinking against steel plating. Little electrical pulses coursed through the wiring as her eye twitched painfully, grinding her teeth slowly as faces of the dead flashed through her mind.

She reigned herself in, pinching her eyes shut, clutching her metallic arm as she breathed through her nose, fighting the pain. 

A tune-up. She just needed a tune up. Faulty wiring, that was the problem. A quick fix and she was fit to go.

Her voice trembled for moment, “Don’t break.”

Looking up, she opened her eyes to the sun shining above. Listening to the trees sway in the wind, she took a deep breath, swiftly matted out the creases in her royal blue uniform, straightened her garrison cap, and in one decisive motion tapped her metal fingers against the door.

With a light grunt and a final turn of the screwdriver, Sokka tightened the last of the steel forearm plates, “Okay, that ought to do it. Try it out and move it around a bit.”

Azula swiftly spat out the piece of thick rubber she bit down on, rising from her seat beside the workbench, wiping the sweat trickling down her forehead, matting out the creases in her tank top,

She huffed, “Finally.”

Sokka narrowed his eyes, “’Finally’? You can’t rush this stuff you know.”

Rolling her shoulders, she stretched out the steel prosthetic, mechanical fingers grasping at the air, “You take your time while I sit in pain.”

He rolled his eyes, folding his arms, “You won’t take the anesthetic. I keep telling you there’s no shame in it. Just because you’ve got wires in that arm doesn’t mean you can’t feel anything. You know how careful I have to be installing that arm?”

A short pause. She stiffened her back and her metallic fingers cease to move. 

She turns to him with a sharp glare, “I’m aware.”

Sighing, Sokka threw his hands up, mimicking surrender, “Fine, whatever, you’re the State Alchemist, you obviously know more about the fine arts of mechanical engineering and surgical medicine than the guy who practices both.” 

Boot’s shifted against the worn floor boards as Azula took a stance, jabbing her mechanical arm at the air. Again she did it, falling into a practiced rhythm, testing for any tension in the joints, wary for any rogue electrical spark that might throw her off balance. 

Smooth and effortless, as if fresh off the assembly line. He certainly had the touch.

“Lucky for you I didn’t have to do a complete overhaul,” Sokka said, rising from his seat as he observed Azula, listening for squeaks or screeches in the joints, “Wires in the bicep and joint connecting it to the pneumatic actuator were worn out, so it was just a matter of replacing and hooking them back up to your nervous system.”

Folding his arms, he leaned against a wall and watched Azula deliver and uppercut to an invisible foe. She was already sweating, flaring her nostrils with each jab.

He smirked, practically talking to himself, “And then a routine oiling, a bit of polishing here and there. Oh, and I did have replace the steel plating near the shoulder joint with something lighter. Just so happened to have some new aluminum alloy plates lying around. Figure that would take some stress off the ball bearings in the shoulder joint.”

She stopped abruptly, looking at him through narrowed eyes, “Yes. It feels… different.”

“Well, good then! It should. I mean, the plates are from an M1911F model, but the good thing about that line is that you can practically jury-rig it to the earlier M1910 series models without anyone being the wiser.”

“Hm. Very resourceful of you.”

Sokka covered his mouth, feigning coquettishness, “Oh, stop it, you! You’re going to make me blush.”

She rolled her eyes, groaning, “Your sarcasm is as grating as ever.”

“I consider it a healthy sense of humor myself,” he said, lifting himself from the wall as he strolled into the kitchen the next room over, “I fix up people’s limbs for a living now, Azula, its messy work. Gotta laugh about something now and then!” 

Leaving her to freshen up and put on her coat, Sokka browsed the cupboards for a few clean drinking glasses. He hardly had any as it was and most of the dishes were in the sink, still dirty from the night before. Sighing, he took two from the top of the stack of dirty plates, slung a nearby dishrag over his shoulder, and rinsed out the glasses with some soap. Satisfied, he dried them off and set them on the nearby table. 

As he was rummaging through the cupboards again he heard Azula’s heavy footsteps against the creaking floorboards, taking her seat at one of the chairs near the small table.

“Hang on, I’ll find it,” he said, pushing aside cups and dishes, “Its here somewhere…”

He could feel her eyes on his back, judging him, “Don’t you remember where it is?”

“Sometimes? I mean, I like to switch it up from time to time, just to throw off any cops that might search my place. Ishval Whiskey is both rare, out of production, and illegal here. Resenbool is in a dry county after all.”

“No, you don’t need to ‘switch it up’, just keep it in place you will remember.”

He looked back at her, “I do remember where it is… I think.”

She shook her head derisively, “Ugh. Idiot. Its in the last cupboard on the right.”

Quirking and eyebrow, Sokka slowly made his way to the cupboard she specified. Rummaging through it and looking toward the back, sure enough, he found what he was looking for.

He blinked, “Oh. There it is.”

Azula merely inspected the metal digits on her automotive hand, causally clinking them together, “I told you so.”

“How did you know?”

“Because when I was here last week, you got a little too drunk. I set you on your bed and put the bottle there.”

He searched his memory, tilting his head to the side, “Ah. Right.”

“Indeed.”

Gently, she took hold of a nearby glass, teetering it from side to side, “Now lets have that drink shall we? I’m parched.”

Blinking, Sokka shrugged his shoulders and grabbed the dark blue bottle of whiskey from behind the stack of plates.

“I’ll get the snacks then.”

The sun had set over the horizon and the stars began glinting in the night sky just outside the cottage window. The candlelights caught in the empty whiskey bottle. The cheese and crackers had long since been eaten. Time had slipped away, the waning hours filled with drinks, stories, and laughter.

As the kitchen grew dim, the last light of the sun snuffed out over the hills, Sokka was content to share the silence with Azula. There was little to say, except what he feared would slip out in a sudden, drunken outburst.

His finger traced a circle over the rim of his empty glass, his mind swimming in warm bliss, frogs croaking outside his window. Not a bad way to spend an evening he supposed.

The chair Azula sat in creaked as she leaned back against it. She idly searched the pockets of her military coat and pulled out her silver pocket watch, flipping the lid open and checking the time. Even in the dim light Sokka could still make out the pentagram - the emblem - of the Amestrian State Alchemists carved over the surface.

She sighed as she tossed the watch on the table, her voice alien and harsh, eyes glued the half-empty glass in front of her, “ Do you remember it? Ishval?”

Sokka blinked, puzzled by her tone. She reached out and gently traced her metal fingers over the emblem on the watch.

“I… try not to. Its hard sometimes,” he said, clearing is throat.

She slowly nodded her head, “It keeps you up at night, doesn’t it?” 

He winced at her words, lips tightly pursed, “Volunteers like me had it rough too, Azula.”

“No doubt. Eight years of bloody attrition.”

“Eight years of dying. Fuck. If I’d had known what I signed up for I would have never joined the state army. I don’t know how a damn fool like me made through.”

She chuckled, without a hint of cheer or joy, running her hands through her neatly combed hair, “Of course you don’t. A little man like you, hunched in a ditch clutching his rifle, against the fanatical Ishvalans hordes. I wager you and your friends cheered as we Alchemists came in and cut them all down for you.”

His chest tightened painfully and a cold shiver snaked up his spine. The smell of cordite from spent shells thick in his nose, the course white sand blinding him, the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. 

The sizzle and pop of burning flesh consumed by azure flames.

Sokka’s darted to the empty whiskey bottle, yearning for another drink. He looked to Azula instead, her gaze leveled at him, “… some of us did.”

Azula scoffed, “Did you?”

He gulped hard, as if trying to swallow a rock lodged in his throat, “I don’t remember really. Too busy keeping my head down or-”

The bone caved in as he bashed the bastard’s head in with the butt of his rifle, the sand turning red. Again and again and again and again and-

“-trying to survive.”

Sokka started to rub his hands together, feeling cold. He could still feel how his sweaty palms clenched the rifle, how the man squirmed under him, grasping at his uniform.

“You did what you had to do,” she heard him say.

He turned to the alchemist. Her eyes were still fixed on the silver pocket watch, her metal fingers resting over the smooth surface.

“Was that all though? Just… following orders? Kill them all before they kill us?”

She fixed him with glare through narrowed eyes, “Orders. Hmph. Orders are what got us stuck in that quagmire in the first place. Command sends recruits into the most barren place in Amestria over a few scuffles, thinking firepower and numbers will win the day, and then they send in the State Alchemists to fix their stupid mistake.”

Her mechanical fingers tighten over the pocket watch. Sokka’s eyes widened as the silver metal buckled under the pressure. He could hear the glass breaking and the little gears grind to a halt.

She spoke through gritted teeth, “And to fight what, Sokka? To kill what? A rabble of fucking civilians?”

He stared off into the shadows of the kitchen, trying to make sense of it all, looking for an answer, “I… I-I don’t-”

He leveled his sights on her as she clutched her father’s arm tightly, the old man’s head covered in bandages, both their faces pressed against the stone wall. 

God. No.

She looked like Katara.

“Aim!”

“For god sake, why!? Kill me, not them! I shot your friend, why should the rest die!”

His insides churned. The oldman’s voice rang in his ears. He wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t going to-

“Fire!” 

He choked on a single word, “… yes.”

And then It hit him. It hit him as hard as the bullet he put in the girl’s head. He felt sick all over again.

Sokka turned to Azula, “That’s exactly what we did. And now there’s nothing left of Ishval.”

Her eyes seemed to sear his soul, wrath drenched in grief. She started breathing through her nose and fixed a menacing glare on him. 

Without warning, she shot up from her seat, teeth clenched, the silver pocket watch clutched in her automotive hand, ready to throw it at him. He jumped from his chair as he shielded his face, falling to the floor, glasses cracking against the wood as they fell.

He expected fire to conjure from her hand at the flick of her wrist. She could do it easily - the transmutation circle etched into her glove allowed her to conjure flames at her leisure. He had seen so many die that way, a trail of ash and bone left in her wake, blue cinders carrying on the wind.

But there was nothing. No fire, no smoke, no seared flesh. Only the sound of steel splintering wood as the table shattered to pieces under Azula’s ferocious strength. Her eyes desperately searched the dim room, looking for a way out of the dark. She ambled about, finally collapsing to her knees, the drinks taking their toll on her. Gears and shards of silver fell through her steel fingers as she buried her face in her palms.

Sokka could barely hear Azula’s voice as her shoulders bucked violently, her body slouched forward, “Are… a-are we monsters?”

He stared at her as he laid there on the floor, unable to answer. His eyes stung and her words began to sink in.

“Murderers? W-Were-,” she tried feebly to rein herself in, “Were we soldiers or exterminators, Sokka?” 

In the dimness of the kitchen he could barely make out her form. Fighting back a painful headache as his vision blurred, he slowly got up and stumbled his way toward Azula, feet shuffling passed shards of glass.

He tried to speak, “I… want to believe we were soldiers, Azula.”

With one swift motion and a hard pull, his father ripped the medal from his uniform and threw it to the floor. The flimsy bronze metal bent and the colorful ribbon was rend from the pin.

For bravery - for mowing down dozens with a maxim gun in a single afternoon.

Katara held her mother as they looked on, their faces hard and unkind.

“Get out! I won’t have a murderer in this house!”

“Dad, wait, just let me-”

“I said get out!”

Kneeling down beside her, he wrapped his arms around her body, face nuzzled into the nape of her neck, “But its hard to pretend we were. Its hard to keep lying.”

Tears rolled down his cheeks and he pulled her in close. She was so warm and he felt so cold. The war only ever drained him of his strength, even after it was over, and it was a struggle just to keep it from his mind. He felt so selfish as he held her tight. He didn’t want to let go.

His eyes widened as Azula’s arms wrapped around his neck. He could feel her tears trickle down and touch his cheeks, her metal hand grasping tightly at the back of his head, the last pieces of the pocket watch falling between her fingers. She couldn’t hold back anymore. All he could do was hold her, knowing it was just a futile gesture.

Time slowly passed away as the silence of the night crept by. He stayed like that with her, but for how long he didn’t know. He just held her until the tears dried, until his grip around her waist slackened and their breathing calmed, the war heavy in their hearts.

Her voice was slow and measured, “I can still hear it. At night, when the crickets finally sleep.”

Sokka’s hand went to her head, gently running his fingers through her hair.

She breathed in his scent stared off into the darkness, “Howitzers when they shake the ground, bullets when they pass over your head. That horrendous, deafening noise when the maxim guns open up. It just won’t leave.”

His eyes twitched at the memory and he sighed into her hair. He could still feel the vibration of the gun, how it shook him to the bone like a buzz-saw through wood, how the muzzle flashes blinded him just before he tore men in half.

She continued, “… There was is this platoon trapped in the heart of the Old City. I remember passing you by when we took the minaret over looking El Zeyd Square. You waved at me.”

“… I remember. You didn’t wave back.”

“They we’re pinned down. Going to be overrun. A runner from the platoon managed to get through. Said they needed a State Alchemist. I rushed there as fast as I could.”

Sokka closed his eyes, rubbing her head, remembering the sun baked ruins of the Old City.

“Runner took a bullet as we rushed down an alley. Died before he hit the ground. Didn’t even hear where the shot came from with all the noise. I just kept running. I knew I was close.”

She paused, her body tensing up.

“Azula?” he asked.

“… I rushed into a building, choking on dust. Started to…” she gulped, clearing her throat, “to clear out the rooms. I could hear them, the Ishvalans, on the next floor above me.”

Another pause. Sokka didn’t press her. 

She soldered on regardless, “… They never saw me coming. Room by room, I burned them out. I didn’t stop, not even when I choked on the smoke. I just kept going, kept burning everything I saw. I can’t even remember how many I killed. Its all just a blur.”

His hands started to shake as a cold shiver coursed through him. The Azure Flame Alchemist. That’s what they called her. A walking, breathing flame-thrower.

“And in those flames I…” she stuttered, choking on her words, “I saw him. This little boy. Dancing. And screaming. Blue fire just… consuming him. Family burning up as he tried to escape.”

Sokka’s eyes widened. Her voice trembled as she continued, “He… rushed out of the room. Tackled me. I kicked him off with my boot and he… he hit his little head on the wall and started squirming. Crying…” 

She buried her head in in the crook of his neck. Sokka could feel warm tears trickle down his skin.

“Tried to put him out. Made a special transmutation circle on the floor as quick as I could. Made some water for him. He just… he just wouldn’t stop crying.” 

Azula’s arms recoiled from around his neck as her automotive hand started to shake violently. She slowly rung her hands, as if trying to wipe some stain off of them.

“I tried to drag him away. His little shirt crumbled to ash. His flesh just…” she shook her head, “… just peeled off. Could feel his bones in the palm of my hands as I lifted him up.”

Her voice cracked as she sniffed through her nose, “I ran with him in my arms. Left the platoon to die. Took him all the way back to our lines to a bivouac. He screamed the entire way. I laid him down in front of a medic, threatened him. Told him to save the kid.”

She ran her palms over her face and breathed, rage in place of sorrow, “… he didn’t even look at him. He just… called over a soldier and told him to ‘do it’. And he ended the boy. With one, two bashes to his head, right in front of me.” 

She looked at Sokka, searching for answers he couldn’t give, “I never did that again. I made sure I followed orders, made sure I didn’t crack, and they watched me just in case I would. That boy is my nightmare, Sokka. Reminds me that I’m a monster.” 

Her eyes were heavy and her head lolled from sheer exhaustion.

Azula looked away, “I’m so tired. So fucking tired. I just want a night where I don’t see him.”

Without thinking, with no words to reassure her, fatigue making him groggy, Sokka merely kissed her forehead. She barely registered the gesture.

“Stay here tonight. Got a spare cot,” he said, helping her up as he lifted off the floor.

Nodding, she staggered through the dark out of the kitchen door, turning the corner down a short hallway, Sokka close behind. She struggled to turn the door handle, cursing under her breath as it finally opened.

He felt there was something he could say, something to tell her that everything would be alright, that she wasn’t alone. His head began to swim, the whiskey playing hell on his thoughts, and the words just wouldn’t come out. It was a struggle just to stand straight.

As she entered the spare room, he bit his lower lip, desperately trying to say something.

But what could he say? How could he possibly help Azula and tell her that things would be okay if the same demons haunted his every thought? She wouldn’t believe him.

He slurred the only words he could think of, “G’night.”

Yet, just as he turned away, Sokka heard her call out to him.

“Stay.”

He pinched his eyes shut. He didn’t know what came over him. He just knew that a warm body beside him would make the cold nights a little bearable for a change. Keep the nightmares away. He felt so empty sleeping alone.

When he entered the room and closed the door Azula was already laying on the cot, her back toward him as she slept facing the wall. She didn’t bother taking off her boots or her uniform. That suited him fine. As he laid down beside her he left his clothes on as well. He was too tired to even unbutton his shirt. 

As he wrapped an arm around her waist she scooted in and arched her back to the curve of his chest, metallic fingers gliding across his forearm. They were surprisingly tender. He nuzzled his head in the nape of her neck, lips on her skin, arms holding her tight.

It was deep into the night before Sokka fell asleep. He listened to Azula softly breathe, fatigue finally claiming her, steel fingers twitching now and again against his arm. Her words still rang in his thoughts, keeping him awake.

Are we monsters?

He feared the answer. There was blood on his hands, on her hands, and nothing could wipe away the stains. 

He fell asleep, silently praying for an answer, hoping for a way to take it all back, to anyone above who would listen.

The last thing he heard was a lone cricket’s reply.

#Sokkla #Sokka #Azula #avatar: the last airbender

[mummified-game-review]

Haque: A review

It was funny one summer of anime I was reading this really cute manga about this girl who maxed out her level by killing nothing but slimes, the same time as everyone was getting into that other anime call “that time i was reincarnated as a slime” super weird that these things happened fairly close to each other.

Oh well let's talk about fighting some slimes.

Welcome back to another video here on Mummified games. My name is Tony and today we're going to be taking a look at the RPG Roguelike Haque by Super Try.

This is another one of these roguelikes where you are asked to pick one of three characters to go run though these dungeons. And try to get as far as you can.

The game has a heavy retro feel to it. And I mean heavy retro as in they let you turn on CRT scan lines and a faux dirty screen to make it feel super rough and hard to see...

Ah yes the anarcho-retro style. So in love with old graphics that were going to actively make the experience as basic as possible on your nice clean 1080p monitors and TVs. The chaotic Evil of game graphics.

Luckily if you don't want to play with dust and crap all over your screen, then grab some monitor cleaner

And if you don't want the fake dirt in the game then you can turn it all off along with the CRT scanlines. Doing this will make it all crisp clean sharp pixels.

Anyway moving on from that small personal setting.

The game starts when you first load it up asking you to impot the date. But no matter what you type it does the right date. And that was cool when it happened. You can just press the same key over and over again to progress though this intro but it might also be fun to just pretend you're inputting these commands.

I don't have any video of this because I started playing the game and forgot to hit the record button on OBS. So yeah. Sorry.

So once you’re in I highly recommend you play the tutorial and figure out what everything means. The symbols and art that exist in this game are fine. And once you know what they stand for it makes sense, but just jumping right into the game can be a little deep.

The controls are fairly simple, similar to the controls of a game that I reviewed earlier called Midboxx where you can click around your character, selecting the squares around them and moving to the next squares. And also attacking this way.

Hitting “I” will bring up your inventory and you can also see what you have equipped. Similar to all the other RPGs that are out there.

All the actions you can do are bound to 1 through 4 and also Q W E R at the top left of the keyboard. Compared to ability buttons in some MOBA or MMO games.

QWER being reserved for special skills that your equipped items give you. And then there are 1 through 4 that are quick locations for consumable items. Examples being positions and other limited uses items.

There is a companion that comes with you that fights the monsters you might see in the dungeons.

But that's sort of the basics. There are tons of skills and items that you could use in the game that you could just hold right click over and they explain the spell.

Once you get out of the tutorial the actual game starts with you picking one of 3 different random skilled and stats characters at the start. They’re nowhere near your typical archetypal characters, sometimes you can get a sorcerer that is a great fighter. Sometimes you can get a Necromancer Mushroom that spews spores everywhere. And then there sometimes is a werewolf that you can play as, also.

It's hard to tell you about this game because there isn't a lot that sets it apart from other Roguelikes there are.

The music is fairly basic, and now that I stopped playing the game I could not tell you what any of it sounded like. I know there was a sort of chime sounding song that would play in the shops and that was different from the other songs.

Oh there is a fun idea they put into the shop mechanic.

There's no money or currency in this game. So the shopping experience is a barter deal. Where you select the item you want to buy and then select the items you would want to trade for it. And the game gives you a percentage of if that deal would go through or not. That's actually interesting.

Especially since the chance of the trade going through is the same window in the game where they show you the likelihood of the attack you're about to do will land or not. So that's fun.

There's a sight range thing... *sigh*

There is just nothing to really talk about in this one. It's all just more dungeon crawling fighting more enemies.

There is a story going on with the program being corrupted. And there is an old man that I was halfway through level 3 or 4 when I was thinking okay when is he going to turn on me? And turns out to be a bad guy.

Idk why i thought that might happen but after beating the level one skeleton boss he said something to me that i thought was super ominous. All while the screen was glitching out a bit. Very weird.

Having played this for about an hour and a half I didn't get really far into the story part of this Roguelike. Again a fault of the genre. Your story can't be super long or hard to reach if the player is going to die over and over again.

While playing this game I found myself taking into account the same fighting style that I adopted in Crypt of the Necrodancer. Where if the monster i'm fighting is about to attack i just move back one and they have to spend their turn to move forward.

The problem with this strategy is that the game does not clearly show you how long it is until the other character will take their turn. So you might move back one and then it turns out you have more time until they do their thing.

I feel like this one is going to be the same thing I say about most of the games that came in the Racial Justice Bundle. If you bought that bundle then sure go play this game since you have it. Go find it in your collection and give it a whirl.

But as for a recommendation to go out and pick it up. I'd say unless you really need that crunchy pixel roguelike RPG in your life then sure. If not then I'd give this a pass.

If you played this game, what were your thoughts on it?

If you haven't played this game, are there any other aggressively retro games out there that you would want me to try. Let me know in the comments.

IN THE MEANTIME!

I just remembered I never did a Tournament update at the end of July. I think that since i didn't do a full month i'm going to wait till the end of August. That way I have a bunch to filter though. Not as much as the first one obviously but still a good chunk to push forward with.

I'm sure ill get to another tool or book review soon if anyone was looking for more of those. I'm giving myself a little bit of time every day to read though some of the actual books in this bundle. The next Book club might not be a bundle but a full book by its self. Obviously i'll keep you informed.

But for now you all do the youtube dance Like, Sub, Bell, Comment, share with someone you know.

And as always friends, keep digging and we’ll make it out sometime

See you in the next one.

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