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lycanthrop-ee · 3 years

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Ghosting - Empty House

A/N: !!!!! It’s here! I’m so, so pumped for this- welcome to the Empty House AU! This is the first piece of content I’m publishing and it’s a one-shot from a bigger universe, but it’s also absolutely a stand-alone fic. It’s a self-indulgent, analogical-centric human AU that’s has been floating around my hollow skull for months now, so there’s a lot of doodles backed up if any of yall would like to see that ;) There will be an AU taglist, but I also have an individual writing taglist!

Synopsis: Logan has finally moved out of his childhood home into a family-sized house where he plans to finish college online. His simple plans are complicated when a strange, sad-looking boy starts showing up outside...

Word count: 4,306

Ships: Endgame romantic Analogical

CW: (spoilers) Pre-plot major character death, swearing, anxiety attack, very mildly implied previous parental abuse, be safe kiddos and ask to tag!

The first time Logan saw the boy was the day he moved in.

The empty house had stood hollowly beside its driveway, Logan feeling small without his siblings or parents or any of his rarely acquired friends by his side. He wasn’t a sociable person, but he’d always been surrounded by noise at home, and lots of it… he’d never been in a house as still as the one he stepped into that day. The dark wooden floors were cleanly swept, except for the corners and trimmings which had little fields of grey dust dotting the deep brown. The refrigerator made a hungry humming noise, protesting its suddenly empty shelves- Logan knew a family of four had lived there before, and that they’d given him a pretty hefty discount on the house. That’s all he knew.

The floor in the entrance hall creaked underfoot, and the walls seemed to turn away as they saw him- not who they’d been expecting, not worth their attention. That was fair.

The house had three bedrooms and two floors- altogether a strange layout. Two of the bedrooms were downstairs, situated in a small hallway off the kitchen, and one was tucked into a little corner upstairs, where the only other rooms consisted of a bathroom and a large, carpeted playroom that was mostly empty now. Logan figured it would have been a favorite of the kids when they were smaller, but now the only furniture was a faux leather couch and a television, as well as a couple of out-of-place armchairs that had never gotten much human use from the look of their fur-covered seats.

With just him taking up the whole house, he hardly saw the point in using the upstairs bedroom. The house felt big already- rationally, it would be better to localize downstairs. All he really needed was his room, the kitchen, and the little living room next to the entrance. That was enough for him- in fact, even that was too silent. He missed the screams of his brothers as affectionately as anyone could- which honestly varied day to day.

Today, he was disproportionately affectionate.

It paired well with the fear.

Logan was just about ready to start tearing himself apart over the family members he’d left behind- the only ones that mattered- when the boy caught his eye.

The day had been gray and dreary, the trees heavy with the prospect of rain and the air cool enough to promise it, but it had only started drizzling in the few minutes since Logan had been inside. The sky had seemed to darken remarkably quickly, especially strange without the presence of thunder or even heavy rain, and in the middle of it all was a lanky figure who looked for all the world like a member of the fae.

He stood at the side of the road, looking in the house’s general direction- in Logan’s general direction, although he was sure the other wouldn’t be able to see through his windows. His face would’ve been hidden by the dark hair poking out from under his hood were he not so painfully pale, and his brown irises were visible to Logan only because of the piercing contrast of his skin.

His jacket was oversized, but his beanpole frame managed to show through regardless. The rainwater gradually weighed it down until the boy looked almost a skeleton, Logan frozen watching him for what could have been minutes- and then the frame heaved in a breath and ambled stiffly away.

Obviously Logan’s first worries had to do with an unhinged white male teenager breaking into his new house- the one he had full responsibility for and few precious savings to repair. It was irrational, he knew, but his second thought was that the boy hadn’t looked capable of any harm- or really of much at all. He looked weighed down, depressed, and Logan was sure that it wasn’t just the water soaking his sweatshirt. The boy had looked sad.

And he continued to. Frighteningly often, the teenager appeared outside Logan’s house. Each time he looked quite the same: above average height but considerably shorter than Logan himself, skinny, and almost other-worldly in his strange mish-mash of dark eyes and pearly flesh. While Logan knew that his first sight of the boy had been strange in the sudden change of weather, he could- and completely intended to- count it as a coincidence of Florida’s strange climate.

He settled into a sort of pattern, although the boy didn’t seem to follow one. Each time he saw the figure outside his house, he would take a break from his endless work. He’d make himself some tea, sit in the window, and wait for the boy to leave. This way, he told himself, if he tried anything, Logan would be there to intercept him. He chose not to think about the possibility of it happening at night or while he was away, and he kept far away from the crime shows he’d occasionally enjoyed in the past. This way, too, he could get a good look at his visitor each time. It was almost as though he was keeping tabs on him, and at the tail end of his fear came a strange protectiveness.

It was after about a month of this- Logan looking for job applications and living off of his savings, edgewise- that Logan pulled into his driveway at one of the key moments of his life. The boy stood unsteadily at the side of the road, sweatshirt ever-present even in the heat. Logan got out of his car carefully, his heart in his throat- though, really, did any part of him think the boy capable of much at this point?

He’d have expected the kid to run as soon as he’d pulled in, but when Logan looked him over he saw the boy studying him, bouncing on the balls of his feet. It struck Logan anew in their close proximity how thin he was.

Almost thoughtlessly, he started across the lawn towards the boy. He had to remind himself to uphold formalities- no matter how many times they’d stared at each other across the way, they’d never once spoken. He didn’t know this kid, not really- and now it occurred to him that the boy was more than a kid. He couldn’t be much younger than himself. Logan halted a few respectful steps from the boy, who eyed him strangely.

Close up… he looked, somehow, the same as he did from across the lawn. His features were simple, small mouth and nose easy to overlook for his huge, shadowed eyes. He really did remind one of a fairytale, or even- perhaps more accurately- a Tim Burton.

Logan opened his mouth to speak, but paused for a moment. They watched each other.

“Would you like to come in for tea?” He finally inquired, the words escaping him overly familiar. The boy raised his eyebrows almost undetectably, seeming confused, and Logan caught himself almost leaning forward in anticipation of the other’s first words to him.

“You’re not Patton,” the boy said, voice just above a murmur and hoarse. Logan hesitated, confused, and studied the expression that would’ve been bored were it not for the slight tremble in his lips and a hint of surprise- Logan supposed neither of them had planned what had escaped their mouths. He reached up with a thin arm and brushed the back of his hand gently across his eyes. A spark of something strange flickered in Logan’s chest- this man was possibly not all there. He wracked his brain for labels- depression? Mild psychosis? Dissociation?

Either way, this was not someone he should invite into his house without more information- but as that regretfully occurred to him, the first drops of afternoon rain hit the tip of his noise. He wondered if the boy would stand out here after Logan went outside, and if so, for how long.

“No, I’m not,” he found himself saying. “My name is Logan. It is raining- would you like to come in?”

He was exceedingly aware of the boy’s breathing as they stepped out of the rain, something that would normally drive him insane- somehow he didn’t mind this time. His presence was almost calming after weeks of bringing a break from Logan’s ceaseless work. It assured him that the ghostly pale man was real, which was never a problem he thought he’d be debating... but here was this skeleton-thin, strange-mannered man entering his house as though he’d been there a million times before.

He carefully slid his shoes off, paying close attention to the floor- and no attention to Logan.

“I’ll make tea,” the latter found himself mumbling. “Do you want to come into the kitchen?”

“I’m gonna go upstairs,” the boy said. Logan blinked.

“I- you… this is my house?” He stuttered, trying to be assertive- surely that crossed a line? He’d never seen this kid before a month ago- but there he went, lugging himself up the stairs like he belonged there. O-kay.

Logan backed into the drafty kitchen to put the kettle on.

Time to listen to his voice of reason, he decided. Clearly this boy had been in the house before- hopefully before Logan had moved in- and knew his way around. And clearly his mental state had some connection to the house- whether positive or negative, Logan couldn’t yet tell. So, he concluded, it’s possible that he had lived here before. The married couple that had sold him the house had mentioned a son, but they’d been moving out of town- how would the boy have made his way back almost daily? There was a bus line in the area... but who was Patton, and why had his absence been unexpected?

There was clearly missing information here, and thus the situation was theoretically dangerous. The logical thing to do would be to contact the authorities for more information- maybe the boy was a local that they were familiar with. If that were the case, they would know how to handle him.

On the other hand… it was, put simply, a puzzle. Wasn’t it? Logan was smart; he was in online college and he was passing quite well. He had an A in psych so far. He just needed a few more minutes with the boy and he’d figure it out. He could help him... why else would he show up outside his house?

He needed Logan.

There goes rational thought, Logan sighed as the kettle started to whistle, turning off the stovetop and moving the pot to the side. Something made him turn around- the boy was watching him from the doorway, looking almost more upset than usual. His wide eyes were watery, and as Logan hesitated he wiped an arm across his face again, expression turning to frustration. He avoided Logan’s gaze. “You said you were making tea?” He said, carefully controlled voice just above a whisper. Logan was startled out of his stupor by the boy’s coherence.

“I, um- yes! Yes, would you- what kind?”

“Earl grey? No sugar, just a bit of milk...” he carefully pulled a chair from the small table, slumping into it and reaching to fidget with the salt shaker. “Please.”

The boy’s words stirred Logan into movement and he grabbed two mugs out of the mostly barren cabinet before pulling a pre-packaged tea bag from the tea box on the counter. He unwrapped the tea and dropped one bag in each mug, pouring steaming water from the kettle into them with a satisfying noise. The warm humidity and pleasant smell caressed Logan’s face, and he took a moment to bask in it before returning to the present moment- if begrudgingly. As he set the empty kettle aside, the room quieted, the only sound the rain drizzling over the side of the roof. Logan crossed the space self-consciously to close the window. The boy’s eyes were pointedly focused on the table in front of him- Logan thought he felt more awkward this way than if the boy had been staring at him flat-out. Either way, he could feel his awareness of Logan like a thick fog. He snuck another look at the boy as he hovered beside a chair, unsure whether to sit opposite him.

“My name is Logan,” he prompted, thoughts stumbling over each other to curse him for the repetition.

“Thank you for the tea, Logan.”

...Well, at least that was something. His name sounded strange in the other boy’s hoarse, delicate voice- less mundane, somehow. He stood at the head of a table for one more moment that seemed to stretch out an eternity- the boy carefully spun the salt shaker around in his nimble fingers, swearing softly as some of the seasoning fell onto the table. Logan’s startled eyes studied the other’s flushed face.

And then his head caught up to him, and he shuttered into motion, rushing to the mostly empty fridge for milk and fetching the small bag of sugar he’d mercifully bought a few days before.

“I... I’ve seen you around,” Logan’s mouth betrayed him again. That was creepy- although, looking at it objectively, it was much less creepy than being ‘around’ the way the boy had. The table behind was quiet for too long as he poured the milk.

“...When’d you move in?” The voice was quiet and held a fragility that Logan hadn’t yet heard from the other. He was relieved to finally have an easy answer to one of the many questions he faced. And, indeed, his mouth finally obeyed him, even and direct.

“About a month ago.” He turned to face the table, the boy’s tea held stiffly between his hands.

“Sorry,” he whispered as Logan set down the tea. “I knew someone’d moved in, but I guess… it was you.” The boy let out a hollow laugh, and Logan was swept with protectiveness once more.

“Don’t worry, I won’t alert the authorities.” Because that was the most comforting thing he could think of- he’d never been very tactful with delicate emotional situations. Predictably, the boy tensed. Logan decided it’d be advisable for him to move on. “What is your name, pray tell?”

Pray tell. Pray fucking tell? What was wrong with him? The boy cut him off before he could overthink the foot he’d just shoved in his mouth with the eloquence of an 1800s era schoolboy.

“Patton.” A moment passed before a look of horror came over his face. “Or- no, I- it’s- Virgil! Virgil.”

Now- once again, logically- forgetting one's name was not a good sign. Of general coherence nor moral innocence. Logan knew this.

Still, the boy looked uniquely upset by the mistake.

Logan fetched his tea and sat down opposite him.

The other boy fidgeted incessantly, and Logan felt it fell on him to make Virgil more comfortable. He threw tact to the wind- it was tiresome anyway- in favor of distracting the other and himself from the strange fumble.

“Are you a local?”

He got a nod in response, Virgil holding the tea tightly between his hands. Logan couldn’t help but feel he’d made yet another mistake- obviously the boy wasn’t comfortable talking about himself, but was it worth Logan filling the silence with unprompted facts about himself? Would that bore Virgil? Was that rude? He let the gap in conversation rest for a moment before deciding he didn’t much care what was rude.

“This is my second year enrolled in online college- I skipped my senior year.”

The stupid non-sequitor sat in the middle of the table, sinking like a rock. Virgil managed to give him an incredulous look, even in the depths of... whatever it was that was affecting him. Logan panicked.

Here are a few things about Logan Croft that were usually a given:

1. He often said things without regard to the effect they would have on others.

2. He did not say things he didn’t believe to be true.

3. He did not readily employ personal information.

All of these rules had apparently been thrown out the window the second Virgil walked in his door. As soon as he realized this, he worked to reclaim them. “Virgil.”

The wind immediately blew out of his sails, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Speaking abrasively had never been difficult for him, and this was not the time to adopt a new weakness. “I need to know who you are. You have shown up outside of my house for the past month, and while the reasoning behind this is presumably personal and not necessarily critical for me to know, I will at least need you to tell me your full name. Against my better judgement, I will not contact the authorities about your incessant invasion of my privacy, because I don’t altogether mind it- but if you are to have regular access to my house, we can’t continue this one-sided conversation.” Regular access to his house? When had Logan considered that option? As soon as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer- the feeling of someone appearing in the doorway, seeking Logan’s company… it was something that he’d missed sorely. It was something he needed.

The boy looked startled and altogether terrified by the long stream of words. Logan, still working hard to recover his sense and new to the inclination of softening his words on the behalf of strangers, disregarded this as best he could as he waited for an answer.

It didn’t look like he was going to get one.

Virgil opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, putting the salt shaker down on it’s side like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Logan felt a tug in his stomach to right it, afraid he’d get more salt on his table, but now didn’t seem like the time.

As the moment stretched forward, his attention was grabbed away anyways, trying to decipher Virgil’s expression. It didn’t look good.

In fact, it made his heart drop.

The boy looked withdrawn, fearful- like a bird with an injured wing or a snared fox. Damn it, damn it, damn it- Logan’s split-second adopted mantra was less than helpful, but it showed no signs of tapering off to make room for useful thoughts. Virgil’s eyes squeezed shut, and the instincts left over from Logan’s career as an older brother took over.

He rushed to Virgil’s side on blind autopilot, laying a warm hand over his bony back. The boy jumped at the unexpected touch- and then leaned into it, a choked sob tearing itself from his throat. Oh no. Oh god. Damn it.

Logan didn’t consider himself good with emotions. He did his best to comfort his younger brothers- god knows they needed it- but strangers were a whole new situation and honestly he didn’t feel much better about this than he expected the boy did.

Nevertheless.

“Hey, I-” he took a knee to lower himself to Virgil’s level, steadying himself against the table awkwardly. “Um-”

He choked on what to say, but his mind latched to the one thing he knew. Virgil had responded positively to touch- and with little further thought, Logan bundled the shivering boy into his arms.

Logan would’ve immediately taken back the show of affection by any means necessary if Virgil hadn’t melted into the touch so readily- Logan was reminded of an oversized cat.

That being said, Logan was holding a sobbing stranger in his arms in his new house, alone. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

Logan had always been the kid at family gatherings who did everything in his power to ward off physical contact from his overbearing relatives. Although this situation was completely different and altogether impossible to plan for and avoid, he found himself reacting in somewhat of the same way- each place that Virgil’s thin, trembling body touched his screamed at him to recoil.

He did not.

He brought to mind his brothers- not that they’d ever been particularly physically affectionate with him. They’d always turned to each other, and he’d been left to himself. Understandably. But he imagined if they had seeked his reassurance, if they’d ever been as upset as this stranger was now. If they’d let him in.

But now someone was leaning on him for comfort, and he was determined to provide for them. Imagine if Remus had come to him for help, he kept thinking. Imagine if it were Roman.

And all of a sudden he had to hold back tears himself. He tensed, carefully leaning Virgill back onto his chair- Logan’s chair. Sensing the other’s discomfort, the boy came back to himself like a fire blazing across dry wood.

“Fuck- fuck, I-I’m-” the boy was off at a rushed stutter, scrambling to right himself and wiping his eyes angrily. Logan shook his head, patting Virgil’s shoulder awkwardly.

“Drink your tea,” Logan said stiffly. “It’s okay. I don’t- do you need something?” Good job, he thought sarcastically. Just pretend it never happened. Show him that, apologies, you seem to have made him think you’re an emotional resource. He was wrong, you’re actually a sociopath. Once again, sorry for any inconvenience.

Logan’s thoughts stuttered and shouted as he tried to fix whatever he’d done. Virgil was quite obviously shaking, almost unable to hold his tea to his lips although he did make an effort, and Logan resorted back to psych class- maybe not a panic attack, but certainly an emotional breakdown and possibly an anxiety attack. “Do you have a history of generalized anxiety disorder?” Logan asked automatically, the place where he should have held a capacity for compassion currently void for whatever stupid reason. “Or even a suspected case?” The thunderstorm in his mind froze entirely as Virgil’s watery brown eyes focused on him.

“...I guess,” he rasped quietly, eyes flickering back to his hands as they picked at each other violently. “I dunno.”

Logan let out a long breath, sliding furtively into the chair opposite Virgil.

“If you’re having an anxiety attack, it could be caused by a persistent disorder or a recent traumatic event- although recent is a problematically inspecific measurement-”

“Uh, then I- I dunno. Still. I guess…” He shrugged, looking away. “How recent is recently?”

Logan tried to hold back a sigh of relief at the comparatively simple question.

“Generally, anxiety attacks are caused by a buildup of unfinished tasks or other irritants, although there’s often an overarching problem or incident. A traumatic event can cause emotional turmoil for years after it occurs- or for the remainder of one’s life, depending on it’s nature- but in most to all cases, the effects lessen as time goes on.” Virgil nodded slowly.

“And- and what are the symptoms? Of an anxiety attack?” He pulled his legs up to his chest, presumably placating the urge to make himself smaller. Logan rattled off the characteristics quickly.

“Shaking, a feeling of unease, impulsive thoughts, nausea, panic, the sensation of being trapped or cornered, restlessness, hyperventilation, trouble concentrating, dyspnea- shortness of breath, that is- am I making sense?” He wrapped his hands around the cooling cup of tea in front of him, feeling the need to steady himself. Virgil nodded again- it was apparent he was a man of few words. That worked out wonderfully, Logan thought, as he himself seemed so bent on talking as much as humanly possible.

“Yeah,” Virgil muttered- then stood up abruptly. “Um- I should probably go. Sorry for… yeah.” Logan, decidedly more alarmed at the idea than he should’ve been, got to his feet as well.

“No- I mean, you don’t… have to. If you’d rather- but if you feel the need to go- I mean, I don’t want you to…” Logan paused, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to get his damn mouth under the control of his brain. Had he said something wrong? Well, obviously he’d said many things wrong in the past minutes, but… he thought over the conversation. He’d only been saying the facts- just what he knew. Was there something he should have kept to himself? Was any of it too personal? It was just facts, statistics, symptoms- he cursed himself mentally, although he couldn’t tell precisely what for.

While he’d been deliberating- not panicking, never panicking- Virgil had frozen in place. Right. The whole blazing trainwreck of words he’d let out for no apparent reason. Where the hell had that even come from? He’d known this kid for a month- five minutes face-to-face- and he was already being weird and nonsensical. It took considerable effort to bring the circumstances of their meeting to mind and even the playing field in his subconscious. If they were both creepy, did it even out? “I-I meant... you’re welcome here.”

Logan could see the gears turning in Virgil’s head as he fell back into his chair. A weight slid off of his shoulders as the air between them settled- they were even. Or something.

As much as he expected to regret his words, he was surprised at the lack of protest from his thoughts. It was, for once, blessedly quiet both inside his head and out. Logan sat back down warily. “You obviously have some- some connection to this house.” Like some sort of undead apparition, he thought- but he had the sense to keep that, at least, inside. “I can’t tell if it has a positive or negative effect on your mental state as I seem to be an uncalled for variable in your visit. I’m no psychological authority... I know you’ll come back either way, and I don’t like imagining you back out in the rain.” A shiver went through the boy like a roll of thunder, and he nodded.

“When can I come here again?”

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #empty house au #ehau #analogical #romantic analogical #analogical oneshot #logan sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #thomas sanders #sanders sides human au #sanders sides human!au #human!au #college!au #kinda

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witchymarvelspacecase · 7 years

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An Enemy on the One Hand: Pt 3.

Summary: (Reader Insert - Soulmate AU/Enemy AU) The universe determined your soulmate and enemy at birth, giving you one hint for each; their initials on one of your wrists. BUt what happens if BOTH sets of initials are for the same person? Set during CA:CW

Word Count: 2109

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of violence, angst(ish), CA:CW spoilers (but seriously, what are you DOING here if you haven’t seen that yet?)

A/N: Okay, I’m taking a stab at this. I wanna thank @writingwithadinosaur (as usual) for helping me with EVERYTHING EVER, and being totally fabulous! And @imhereforbvcky for encouraging me to try in the first place.

I tagged everyone who liked/reblogged/commented on the announcement post cause I am a needy bitch, I need validation! But I am MORE than happy to add OR remove you if you’d like.

An Enemy on the One Hand Masterlist

Updated: 8/20/18

It was two years before you felt anything again.

In that time, you’d been on countless missions and made a place for yourself among the Avengers. You’d met Wanda and Pietro, and you were in the room when Vision was “born”. You fought against Ultron, and saved thousands of lives, including Pietro’s. You’d flown in at just the right moment and managed to knock Clint, the child he was protecting, and Pietro out of the way of the bullets. Wanda, Pietro, and Clint had become your closest friends; Natasha pretended to be put out about it, but she was happy that you had fit into the family so well.

Tony had needed a lot of help after Ultron. Since Bruce was AWOL, Tony had taken all of the blame for their creation, and though he honestly felt that it was all his fault, the blame sat very heavily on his shoulders. Tony seemed to harbor a lot of self-hatred, and Ultron just gave him another reason for the hate. He covered his hate in jokes and sarcasm, but if you waited long enough, you could find him in his broken moments; moments where he’d lose his facade.

Natasha had needed help too, but she was as shielded about it as Tony. Neither of them wanted to talk, to anyone, but you’d managed to get them to open up, if only a little.

Tony was easier. If you could catch him in the kitchen at about 4:30 in the morning making his umpteenth cup of coffee, and you just happened to be awake, you could get him to talk. It was easier for him if it seemed like a coincidence, although judging by the small smile that spread across his face when he saw you every morning, he was aware that your early morning trips to the kitchen were for him.

You wore down Natasha over time. She already trusted you, but she never allowed herself to really have problems. Like Tony, she accepted fault and blame because she felt she deserved it. Not because of self-hatred like Tony, but because she felt that due to the bad things she had been taught to do, due to the “red in her ledger”, she deserved whatever came her way. It was like she thought that she should have to live with the guilt and hatred as some sort of atonement for the wrongs she’d committed. As if she felt that in order to balance the cosmic scales, she had to suffer. Bruce leaving had hurt her; not because she loved him, (because as she’d say “love is for children”) but because he had needed her. She had been necessary. Even if it was just for the lullabies, she had been needed. Need and want were different things though. You did your best to convince her that even if she didn’t feel especially needed, she was definitely wanted.

Then came the “Accords” situation. Tony and Natasha’s feelings of guilt drove them to support the restrictions that the accords imposed. Rhodey and Vision sided with them as well. Wanda was in no state to make a decision either way; she still felt incredibly guilty about what had happened with the recent bomb incident. You, Pietro, and Steve had done your best to reassure her, but you could tell she still felt the blame. Ross blaming her outright for not only that incident, but several past incidents as well, hadn’t helped. You’d had to physically restrain Pietro, who’d wanted to throttle Ross for upsetting his sister; you had to debate whether or not to let him.

You had been present at the meeting in Vienna, not to sign the accords, but to show unity among the Avengers, even if it was just for appearances sake. You’d been relatively close to the blast, but avoided most of the shrapnel.

Steve called you as soon as you left the building. “You okay?”

“Well, I’ve definitely been better, but I got off pretty easy.”

“They’re claiming Bucky did it.” Your head was still ringing from the blast, so it took you a moment to process what Steve had just said, but when you did, you had an instant response.

“Couldn’t have,” you coughed into the phone, “I didn’t feel anything.”

“What?” Steve asked. You coughed hard several times, clearing your throat before speaking again.

“I didn’t feel anything, Steve. He couldn’t have been here. I would have felt something.” Either of your marks would have burned if Bucky or the Winter Soldier had been present, even if he wasn’t in the building. You’d felt nothing.

Steve exhaled heavily before responding. He gave you an address to meet up with him and Sam. You hung up just as Nat approached you.

“You okay?” she asked, repeating Steve’s words.

“My head’s still ringing, and I imagine my makeup is a wreck, but I’m good. You?”

She raised her eyebrows a little, but nodded. She opened her mouth to speak, but her phone rang.

After a few seconds, you realized that Steve was on the other end of the line, and you took your moment to escape. If Nat had seen you leaving the scene, she would have followed you. Natasha didn’t have the marks, whether they’d never appeared on her wrists or they’d been removed somehow by the Red Room, you didn’t know. You only knew that she was a skeptic when it came to the marks. She likely wouldn’t have listened to what you had to say about your marks. So you snuck away.

…

Steve and Sam were remarkably close by. You called them from your car instead of going inside the bar that they were hiding in. The car was from Embassy, you’d removed the tracker, but you hoped to switch cars soon.

“You look like shit,” Sam observed as he Steve climbed into borrowed sedan.

“Thanks for noticing. This is my ‘I just got blown up’ look,” you said, not really caring about his sarcasm. You knew you were bleeding through your shredded clothes. “Where are we headed?”

“Do you have a change of clothes with you? Your gear?” Steve asked.

“Yes, it’s in the trunk. I don’t have all of my gear; most of it’s still at the compound.”

“I grabbed what you had in the locker room,” Sam said, “we just gotta stop and pick it up.”

“Awesome. We also need to ditch this car. It’s the Embassy’s. I removed the tracker, but it’ll still be pretty easy to find.” The guys nodded.

You left the car and picked up the gear while Steve found an alternative vehicle. Once you changed into your gear, you put on the loose fitting sweatshirt and joggers that you’d had in the trunk of the embassy car. They weren’t fashionable, but they hid the leather and spandex of your tactical gear, which would have drawn quite a bit of attention. Not that fashion should have been one of your worries; Steve’s idea of a “low profile car” was a rusty old volkswagen.

...

“Can this thing even go freeway speeds?” you asked. It had been hours since you’d squished yourself into the back seat of the VW and your cuts and bruises were throbbing, and your ass was numb.

“Barely,” Sam grumbled from the passenger seat. Steve elected to ignore both of you, so you asked a different question.

“Where are we going anyway?”

“Bucharest.”

“So another 3 hours then,” you sighed, scrunching yourself back into the seat, trying to get comfortable.

“Just about,” Steve replied, looking at you in the rearview mirror, “Are you sure okay?”

“Just scrapes and bruises, Cap; I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about Bucky.” And what could happen to him if the others got to him first…

The rest of the drive was uncomfortably silent.

…

Bucky had made a life for himself; a small one, but one of his own. He had an apartment that he’d sparsely decorated, and a kitchen that appeared to be well used. The windows were all covered, but inside the one room space, you could see a personality coming through. Steve found a journal filled with notes, memories and thoughts that Bucky must have jotted down whenever he remembered something. The covers and pages were worn, but not damaged, as if he opened and leafed through it often, like he would read through his notes to remind himself of who he was and where he came from.

He was rebuilding; you felt hope spreading in your heart. You also felt a slight burning on your right wrist. It started to burn just a little, but the temperature increased as Bucky got closer to the building, and eventually headed to his room. When he opened the door, Steve was the first person he saw.

Steve asked if Bucky knew who he was, and Bucky seemed to avoid the question, saying he saw the exhibit at the museum.

Slowly, you stepped into Bucky’s line of sight. “Do you remember me? We met in D.C. a while ago.”

“Yeah, I remember you.” His eyes darted from you to Steve, then back to you, and you saw his right wrist twitch.

“Remember what I said about your wrist?” you asked. Your wrist wasn’t burning anymore, it was more of a tingle now.

Bucky nodded in response before meeting Steve’s eyes, “I wasn’t in Vienna. I don’t do that anymore.”

“We know you weren’t there,” you said quickly, drawing his attention back to you, “but people who think you were are on their way here. And they’re not planning on taking you alive.”

“That’s smart. Good strategy,” Bucky deadpanned. Your heart squeezed; he really didn’t value his life much did he?

Bucky and Steve were still talking, but Sam called a breach and a grenade flew through the window a moment later.

Everything after that seemed to pass in a blur. Bucky said he wasn’t gonna kill anyone, and aside from some rather devastating blows, he appeared to keep that promise. Then he was jumping off the building, and landing on the roof of the building across the street. It was an easy leap for you, with your powers, and you landed just in time to tackle a man who was wearing what looked like a black cat costume, who had almost been within reach of Bucky. Landing with a thud, the man rolled to his feet very quickly and he was off after Bucky again, attacking him with sharp claws that protruded from the fingertips of his suit. He swiped quite close to Bucky’s face and you tackled him again. Bucky managed to escape the roof and headed for the nearby freeway underpass. You weren’t able to hold off the attacker for long, but while he was fast on his feet, you could fly.

You caught up to Bucky as he ran down the highway, against traffic. You were just behind him when the cat-man caught your leg and threw you to the ground. Hissing in pain, you rolled to your hands and knees. As Bucky sped away from you, your wrist began to burn again. When he had been near you, it had been a tingle, but as he moved farther away it became a burn.

There were puncture wounds around your calf, and you were pretty sure your shoulder was dislocated, not to mention all of the wounds you already had from the bombing that were now reopened and bleeding freely. The guys had left you in the dust, but as you closed in on them, all you saw was flashing blue lights. As you got closer, the burning lessened again, not that you noticed much, you were much too preoccupied by the scene in front of you. Sam, Steve, Bucky and their attacker were all surrounded by armed officers, and Rhodey in his full War Machine suit.

You kept to the shadows, wanting to avoid notice, but you needed to know what was going on, and where the boys were being taken.

Berlin, as it turned out.

Exhaustion threatened, but you knew that you needed to beat the transport to its destination if you were going to be of any help to the guys.

You had to be able to make Natasha, and anyone else there, believe that you hadn’t had anything to do with what just happened in Bucharest; otherwise, the guys didn’t stand a chance of getting out. So, shoulder throbbing, you launched into the air and headed for Berlin. You had to stop in Vienna on the way there though to grab your things; it wouldn’t do to leave anything behind.

Perma Tags (open):

@buckyappreciationsociety @17marvelousfreak @melconnor2007 @feelmyroarrrr @addictionmarvel @writingwithadinosaur @whenallsaidanddone @hello-sweetie-get-the-salt @umwhatandrea @pineapplebooboo @thefridgeismybestie @4theluvofall

AEOTOH Tags (open):

@purplekitten30 @rebeccam7932-blog @fangirlshippinghaven @starkxpotts @prince-of-poptarts@alexhuggett @bloodredrose751 @soldierplum @askwashingoth @oceansoulsss-blog @buchananbarnessoldier @lucyvaughan-omg- @marassberry @chibi-sofaa @1truefangirl1@gascap420-blog @aeonvalentine @byebyeohm @rosewaterjules @dreamcatcher97123 @borlaloca @maybewecouldhappen @regionalatlevi @kmwiinchester @kira-ha-won @castiels-ass-butt-1967 @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse @rampant-salamander @thequeenofthehobbits @lefoutoir @mundane-cup-noodles @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @rda1989 @thisisme-allofme-anditsyours

#AEOTOH #an enemy on the one hand #part 3 #Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #captain america civil war #CA:CW #soulmate au #enemy au

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iamthechocobabe · 7 years

Text

We All Have Battle Scars

A PromptoXOC Soulmate AU based on We Intertwined

We All Have Battle Scars ~Chapter 13~ SFW Word Count: 2,181

Wiz and Alaea stood there in absolute shock, not sure how to react to the news that was brought. Alaea had assumed her mom had gone off to Altissia years ago and had made peace with the fact that she would never see her again. Now, it not only turned out she was within the region all this time, but that she and her father were nothing more than an some gil and a place to hide when the law was looking for her. That was...Alaea felt low. Lower than low-what was lower than dirt?

"Ali..." Wiz tried to reach out and comfort Alaea only to have his hand shaken away and have a set of very angry brown eyes glare at Wiz.

"So, any other family members I should know about? Do I have a grandmother assassin somewhere? Does it turn out my grandfather is the leader of the Impirial Army?"

Alaea ignored the guilt she felt when she saw Wiz's red eyes and also ignored the fact that this was just as hard for Wiz as it was for her. Clenching his teeth to stop himself from crying, Wiz tried to explain. "Your Aunt Gina was the only other family member I knew about because she was at our wedding. What Aunt Gina didn't tell you was that there was a bounty on her head as well-I don't know if that's changed or not, but I figured that it was better for you not to know about your Aunt Gina, the con artist,"

Alaea tried to stop the tears in her eyes and couldn't, so she rubbed her eyes furiously to try and make them go away. "It's my family-she's my aunt. Maybe if you had told me earlier, I would have been able to find mom years ago! What right do you have to keep me away from my family?"

"I was trying to protect you, Alaea! You don't know your mom like I do, you haven't seen her since you were four!"

"And whose fault is that?" Alaea looked at the paper in her hand, one of her tears falling and messing up a number two in the string of numbers. Shaking her head, she pocketed the slip of paper, determination in her eyes. "I'm going to go find her...I...I have to know,"

"What do you have to know? What are you talking about?"

"She took me with her that night for a reason, dad! I have to know...I have to know if...if..." The words wouldn't leave Alaea's mouth and it made her swallow down the lump that she felt in her throat.

"I don't know why your mom took you with her that night, Chocobee. All I know is that the last few weeks before your mom left, she was not the same woman I married,"

"I know it was bad! I remember her being the world's biggest bitch!"

"It's not just that-" Wiz tried to say, but Alaea wasn't having any of it.

"How else was she acting? Give me an example,"

"Goddammit, Ali, I'm not going to do that to you! I was the one who stayed, I was the one who didn't pack up and abandon you for some money. Don't I deserve a little bit of your trust?"

"I-I don't know," Alaea shook her head to clear her thoughts, but it wasn't working. She was still as confused, as angry and as bitter as ever. "I don't know! I don't know what to think anymore, but I have to know, okay? I have to!"

"Oh, no you don't," Wiz blocked Alaea as she tried to leave out the front door and folded his arms. "I forbid you from doing this!"

"'Forbid me'?" Alaea scoffed. "I think I'm a little old for that,"

"I'm just trying to do what's best for you! Can you just believe me on this?"

"I do believe you, dad. But I've never been that weak little girl you wanted to believe I was. I can take care of myself and I'll face the consequences of what happens after this," Alaea finally shoved her dad out of the way and he let her go, now seeing that arguing with her was pointless. She had her mother's determination, after all.

"You're not going to like what you hear, Alaea!" Wiz tried to call out to her, but she was already gone.

Prompto sat outside the caravan as usual, though this time he was occasionally standing and pacing back and forth. He had considered a few times going and knocking on Wiz's front door, but he decided against it, even after the blonde woman, Alaea's aunt, left the Outpost. Now, Prompto sat outside with Ignis and Noctis while Gladio ignored all the female workers at the Outpost who surrounded him as he did push-ups in the driveway.

"So, how's it going with you two?" Noctis asked to pass the time.

Prompto touched the back of his neck and traced the soulmate mark with his fingers like he often did. "I think it's going well...she seems to be more comfortable around me. But I still don't think she believes the soulmate mark legend...thing,"

"Do you think it's real?" Ignis asked.

Prompto stopped tracing the mark and sat thinking for a moment. Did he believe the soulmate mark legend, that people with soulmate marks were destined to be together? Or was it just some crazy coincidence? Everyone had told him it was real, but did he believe it for himself and not just because other people told him it was real? "I like to think it is,"

Noctis nodded. "I mean, people having individual and different marks and there's another person who just so happens to have the same mark, just mirrored? I guess it is too big of a coincidence,"

"I don't think Alaea doubts the mark itself," Prompto said. "I think she just doesn't believe that soulmates are really meant to be together and fall in love,"

"It sounds to me like it's more of a lack of faith in love than in a legend," Ignis observed.

Prompto picked up his camera to occupy himself, still continuing the conversation as he got up to take pictures of some passing Chocobo’s being led to the racing track by workers. "After being shit on all of her life by a bunch of people because of a stupid scar, I think it's more of a loss of faith in humanity,"

Prompto snapped a decent shot of a Chocobo nipping at the worker. He looked at the photo to study it, but he found his mind wandering back to Alaea. He felt such a strong and emotional connection to her after only knowing her for a few weeks...what if she decided she didn't want anything to do with him?

"I need you to take me to Old Lastallum,"

Alaea pulled Prompto out of his thoughts as she stood in front of the three, her typical determination set in her face. Her eyes were red and Prompto saw tear strains on her cheeks, but he was too busy focused on what she said to make any remark.

"Uh, we don't have a car, Ali," Prompto reminded Alaea about the lack of the Regalia, which there was still no word of.

"We'll rent Chocobo’s, but I think it's a days ride by Chocobo and I don't think it's safe to go by myself. Will you go with me?"

Prompto looked at Noctis for an answer. Noctis' answer was a shrug. "I don't care-we've got nothing else to do until we figure out where the Regalia is, anyway,"

"Did you require all of our assistance?" Ignis asked calmly.

Alaea shook her head. "I don't care-you can all tag along or you can all stay here. But I'm going with or without you, but I'd feel safer if someone would go with me,"

Gladio, who had come up to the caravan to get some water, leaned against one of the chairs. "Can we ask what this is about?"

Alaea stopped for a second; she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out, so she closed it. After about 30 seconds of silence, she swallowed, forcing herself to talk. "I...I can't tell you. All I can say is that it's important to me. I understand if you don't want to go, but just know that if you do, it would mean the world to me,"

Prompto obviously needed no convincing. "Well, I'm in,"

Alaea smiled at him with gratitude and looked at the other three.

"Got nothing better to do," Noctis mumbled.

Gladio smirked a bit and Prompto didn't need to be a mind reader to tell he loved the idea of camping while riding the Chocobo’s to Old Lastallum. "Traveling by Chocobo sounds fun,"

"I don't see why not," Ignis said.

Prompto's heart hurt when he saw Alaea's eyes fill with tears, but she wiped them away before Prompto could hug her and smiled at the four people she felt comfortable around enough to now call her friends.

"Thank you,"

Alaea felt super relieved that she had washed her work clothes the previous night; the last thing she wanted was to meet her mom in dirty work clothes, but didn't want to wear her casual sweater and jeans when they were going to be camping in the woods as they traveled towards the coordinates near Old Lastallum.

After some quick necessities, they were on the road with their Chocobo’s in tow. Chocobo’s could actually be pretty fast, so it wouldn't be super long to get to Old Lastallum and they all traveled along the road with music from Noctis' mp3 player to pass the time, occasionally having to get off to confront a group of daemon's by the side of the road. Alaea couldn't help but notice that during the trip, Prompto was extremely calm and quiet, but Alaea convinced herself that she would deal with her mom first and then figure out what was going on with Prompto.

As soon as it began to get to get dark, Ignis recommended they stop for camp and predicted that they would reach Old Lastallum by the early afternoon of the next day. While she did the best she could to help out, Alaea was mostly brushed aside as the camp set up was pretty routine with the four.

It wasn't long before darkness fully set in the night and Ignis prepared the only meal Prompto had thought to bring: Cup Noodles.

Alaea was too kind-hearted to tell them that she hated Cup Noodles.

Alaea nibbled in silence as Gladio, Prompto and Ignis debated whether Cup Noodles was actually healthy for you or not (spoilers-it's not) while Noctis played on his phone. Prompto had turned in his seat to face and argue better with Ignis, so Alaea could clearly see the soulmate mark from this angle whenever Prompto scratched the back of his hair or neck.

Noticing her staring, Noctis smiled softly while the other three continued to bicker. "You know, he's been touching that mark on the back of his neck for as long as I've known him. It was kind of creepy,"

Alaea didn't respond, she just continued to stare, deep in thought about the soulmate mark and what it meant. Her parents had been soulmates...were soulmates really meant to fall in love or was it just a false hope? "Do you believe it?"

Noctis focused on Alaea. "Believe what?"

"The soulmate mark-do you believe that people with the soulmate marks are really destined to fall in love with each other?"

Noctis paused at that and looked down on his phone in concentration. "I don't know...Luna and I were never soulmates, but I didn't mind when I found out I was supposed marry her. She's a good friend, after all,"

"But..." Alaea chewed on the inside of her cheek, worried she was going too far, but deciding to ask anyway. "But do you love her?"

Noctis didn't act offended. In fact, he put his head back like he wasn't a stranger to the thought before this and had wondered the same thing at night when he couldn't sleep. "Sure I do...but I mean, it's kind of like loving your sister or your mother. I'm willing to do what's right for the people, but if I had a choice, I don't think I would marry Luna. And Luna knows that because she feels the same way, but we both knew we have...or at least, had...a duty to fulfill,"

Noctis glanced at Alaea with a smug smile. "But if you're thinking about selling that to a journalist, I'll just deny it, so there's no point,"

Alaea rolled her eyes. "I'm not that shallow,"

Prompto laughed really loudly-apparently, he had said something to irritate Gladio, so Gladdy had tackled him to the ground and was now putting the poor kid in a headlock, while Ignis just sat there and drank his coffee.

Noctis looked at the two and started chuckling. "I know you're not shallow-but neither is Prompto,"

Alaea smiled softly. She was still unsure of the answer to her question, but she started to wonder if it really mattered. Prompto made her happy, she could no longer deny it...was happiness really all that mattered, with or without a soulmate mark?

"Yeah, I know,"

#ffxv #ffxv fanfiction #prompto #prompto argentum #prompto argentum soulmate au #prompto argentum soulmate #soulmate au #because i have the originality of an off brand twinkie

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swtorramblings · 7 years

Text

On Vaylin

I am re-posting this, my rough draft of a post that I wrote to my main blog when I found that my annoyance with certain game events aggravated me so badly I needed a place to publicly vent. I tried to move it here and broke the whole thing, so lost some of the edits and other information (I’m still learning the ropes). I still want to have it up, but I am also not putting in the tags it used to have. I am trying to be more positive, now, though I will have one more negative, but somewhat calmer, post on the subject in the near future, because even after a month and a half it still gets to me.

I am going on a rant about the SWTOR expansion, Knights of the Eternal Throne. I don’t think anyone is likely to see this that, 1. Cares about SWTOR, 2. Cares about my opinion of SWTOR, 3. Doesn’t already know the plot of KOTET. If I’m wrong, note that there are spoilers ahead.

Too long, didn’t read: Vaylin’s fate is for crap, a badly told mess even if the basic plot of “man and woman enter, only man can leave” wasn’t already a problem.

Note: I’m not really looking for debate. I’m just venting. But, if you must, keep it civil. My ire is meant for Bioware and for the people who have approached disagreements on this subject rudely.

Now, my therapy will begin.

I will be up front about my core bias: I have seen enough stories where a man and a woman fulfill similar roles in the story, have similar experiences, and, in this case, commit similar crimes (of type if not of scale), but the man survives and the woman doesn’t. I was never, ever going to like this plotline. Give us the choice to save both, give us the choice of which one can be saved (Bioware loves that), or don’t let us save either. All would be better, though I prefer the first two.

I fully understand that she was written without those little moments of remorse that he was. I do understand what Bioware was going for. It’s not difficult to see, it was unsubtle. It was also hamfisted and obnoxious. So don’t tell me how obvious it was that she was too far gone and like that: I’m well aware. I just don’t find it to be a good story, especially with so much of how it was handled. They chose to make her that way, they did not have to, and even in making that choice they could have done better.

Finally, I recognize this is a game. It is also, however, a story, and how we tell and share stories is important to me, and this one was awful. Bioware tried to tell a tale of tragedy and familial abuse and mental illness and brainwashing, in an action game with a trinary response, and the lack of nuance didn’t do them any favors. If they couldn’t tell the story with care and sensitivity, they shouldn’t have told it at all.

Vaylin irredeemable. Why? Because mummy and brother can’t find any good in her with their Detect Good spell? Please. Because daddy says she is like a wild animal? Please squared. They should get no say whatsoever.

I swear, whether or not Vaylin ultimately must die I wanted the option to tell them all off. When they say something like that, I want to say, <point to Senya> “You feared her and abandoned her.” <point to Arcann> “You neglected her and killed her brother. Out of everyone living outside of my head, you two are the most responsible for what she has become. Neither of you have any say in how we are going to handle this. And we’re going to do what we can to save her. Period. And if you want any more reason than she’s your family, or the horrible things you both allowed to happen to her, or your own empathy, Valkorian is telling me she has to die, and I refuse to do what that monster says. Are we clear?”

Oh, and that bit where you get the option to tell her that Valkorian wants you to kill her? To try to talk her down? That’s the Light option, Bioware. You’re irredeemable is the neutral option. How hard is that to figure out?

Because she’s a threat to your troops? No. The moment you tell them that Valkorian wants her dead, they should be changing their blasters to stun settings. Well, if those exist in TOR, if they haven’t been invented yet, someone should get on that (and if they do every single light side character should carry one, even if they are clumsy and random, for situations like this). But your troops know what he is, and should be willing to help you out here.

Because she killed a lot of people, including your buddy (speaking of hamfisted story telling)? Arcann killed HK-55 (but, you know, droid, and anti-droid bigotry is certainly a thing in Star Wars, even with otherwise light-side types) and almost certainly many times as many people. I do hope you don’t have him with you if your reason to kill her is because of her crimes (and if you executed him for his, congratulations, you are more consistent with your actions than the game company known for its awesome stories. I say, without irony, good job).

Because she’s killed your buddy and you want revenge? Point. I have no rebuttal, but then, I don’t really have a problem you being able to choose to kill her, here (aside from my “Bioware created an awful and poorly told story of familial abuse where you have to/get to kill the victims” thing), my problem is that you have to kill her but you can save Arcann.

Because she slaughtered her troops with her force powers when they annoyed her or just to show off? Again, hope you haven’t saved Arcann after halving his own forces. Just because she does it herself doesn’t mean he’s less heinous, and magical force powers healed him.

Because she’s too broken to live? That’s really the crux of what Bioware was going for: her mind was crippled by Valkorian and can never be gotten back to what it was. Her sanity can never be restored so we have to kill her because of the combination of her powers and her madness. Well, even if I fully accepted this, I want to be allowed to show sympathy within the game. Yeah, I can pretend that’s what the Outlander is really doing, but some things I’d like explicitly stated, and this is one of those. Just say you’re sorry you have to do this before stabbing or shooting her. I wouldn’t like it, as I said, but it’s a small step up, anyway. And they couldn’t give us that option.

Mock her like a villain? You can. Ask her to surrender? You can. Show sympathy and offer help? No, not really. Not use the command phrase, or even show a shred of sorrow or even embarrassment over its use? Nope, and you’re going to expose it to the galaxy, her shame, her lack of control, the awfulness of her parents! I can’t imagine why she hates you so much, especially with her awful family around you, but you did that to her

This is an abuse victim. Further, she had directed attempts to break her mind, body, and spirit to make her into something else. These things happened. The fact that you walk up to her, close enough to touch, with what sounds like whimpering and fear being the only sounds she’s making, and stab or shoot her is disgusting. If she’s supposed to be just Pure Evil, at least let her be ranting at the end. If she’s supposed to be Irredeemably Broken, pretty much the same. That bit of whimpering both makes her seem like someone not really all that dangerous and someone that I want to save. She made the same noises when you most recently defeat her, while she’s on her hands and knees before you, too. Shame you couldn’t have acted before she bubbled up, hero. Perhaps irrational, but there it is.

Because she doesn’t ask? Because she doesn’t want to be saved? Uhm, and? Bioware tried very hard to present her as completely gone, and why. She doesn’t get to choose whether the people around her are going to at least try to help her. Does that take away her agency as a character? Maybe, but I’d argue that her agency was already taken away by her father (and, by extension, the writers) a long time ago. In fact, note in Chapter 9: “Choice. I could get used to that.” At that point, after death, she has agency. Shame she couldn’t have gained some before that, like, by the Outlander trying to save her.

I actually think she was borderline suicidal. She fought beyond what was reasonable when already defeated, there at the end. When, after you continued her abuse by using her command phrase, she retreated and tortured herself, she shouts out not that she doesn’t want to die, but that she doesn’t want to die “in this place”. Scant evidence, since “not like this” is something people that don’t seem otherwise to want to die sometimes say. But, combined with what she has been through and her constant control by others (I’m looking at you, Outlander), it seems at least plausible. I don’t think it’s what the writers were going for, but I can’t unthink it, and it makes “she didn’t ask to be saved” take on a very different, and much worse, meaning.

Because she’s too dangerous? Maybe. There are some signs of it. She’s certainly been defeated often enough, but, yeah, her power is unlocked! Oh, wait, you beat her again. But, now she has that bubble thing, maybe it’s just going to keep going, burning her out and blowing up your base, if she’s not killed. Maybe her rage would drive her troops forward, even if she was unconscious or, say, in carbonite. It would be nice to have one of those explicitly stated before killing her, because at that point the decision to do that rather than try to take her alive makes more sense.

You had to kill the suicidal woman because she was going to kill everyone around you and it was the only way to stop her? Fine. Show some remorse that it came to that, lightsider. Show some empathy. Really all I want given the choice has already been made by the writers that she must die.

Honestly, there’s an episode of Justice League Unlimited where Batman sits down with Ace while she is dying and just stays with her. A moment like that would have been so much better for the nice characters. Instead, “You’re irredeemable!” stab/shot in the gut.

Maybe you just don’t have a non-lethal weapon. Maybe you should get one, we have them on Earth and can’t even break the speed of light or form light into a solid cutting tool.

Because it’s too risky to try to save her, long term? If you wanted the easy way, you’d have used the Emperor’s power every time he offered it, but you didn’t do that, even to save Lana, did you? But, then, accepting his advice and help is probably a bad idea. What did he tell you to do with his daughter and other family members, again?

Because she was always evil? Many of the things I’ve griped about are open to interpretation, this one included. There were moments when she could be interpreted to have a vicious streak as a little girl. She smiled when the guards died (I still believe that the guards should be hurt, not dead, because Senya should have talked about this instead of the crippled guard if Vaylin killed her sparring partners, but I digress). I interpret that as her happiness in showing off her power, and the moment after that as her guilt realizing what had happened. But, sure, the Dark Side could be interpreted as there, even then.

But that bubbly little girl, bouncing up and down with excitement while her big brothers spar? She’s evil? No. Just no. I fear I have no cogent argument to give on this subject, but I don’t accept it, anyway. They can’t all be gems. My entire diatribe is about how the Outlander should have been portrayed as more emotional, if the player so chooses, and I’m not immune myself.

Conclusion: I’m not happy that you are forced to kill an abuse victim, a mentally disturbed woman who, yes, has committed heinous crimes. This isn’t the right venue for such a story, if any venue is. I am doubly disgusted by the way it was approached, with the hero of the story mocking her and taking advantage of her weakness forced on her by the villain for tactical reasons. You don’t use the command phrase to capture her, or even really to save people nearby: it was always your plan to reveal the results of her abuse to the galaxy. I don’t like that you don’t appear to try to help her until after she’s dead, and are unable to choose to show any kind of remorse for what you must do. They took a story that would have annoyed me and made it into something really grotesque. Good job, Bioware.

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