#also helped his mind and body adapt to them as he fractured

[mari-beau]

GIVE ME A REASON: PART FOUR - A Rogue One Fanfic

So this part/scene got a little out of control. Ironically, since I only had the base idea of when it would take place until I started writing it. You can also find/read this story on AO3 now.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Title: Give Me A Reason: Part Four

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Jyn Erso POV, Cassian Andor

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn (mostly pre-ship?)

Spoilers: Rogue One; Episode IV A New Hope

Setting: Post-Rogue One AU (Cassian & Jyn live); Also during/post A New Hope

Warnings: Some sappiness?

Words: 2,978

Story Summary: Jyn’s entire universe has been turned on its head, so maybe she’s clinging a little too hard to the one thing she feels certain of (strangely enough) as she tries to figure out her place in the galaxy. And maybe she’s being a little overprotective of a wounded captain.

Also can be found on AO3.

...

“Ms. Erso, it is time for you to vacate the infirmary.”

Jyn jerked, jarred from sleep and reaching for the knife she no longer had on her person. Her situation settled back around her surfacing consciousness, calming her immediate fight-or-flight response but keeping her on edge.

“No,” she told the medical orderly droid. “I already told the doctors, medical staff and you lot that I’m not leaving Captain Andor. I don’t want him to wake up alone.”

“Yes. You were most clear regarding your intransigence, Ms. Erso.”

Droids had the worst attitudes. Shouldn’t med ones be programmed with a better bedside manner?

“But the bed is needed,” the droid went on when she just wanted it to go away so she could wallow in the overwhelming mix of emotions drowning her; loss, guilt, relief. “There are numerous incoming casualties from a skirmish in the Za’dan sector.”

Jyn scowled, but didn’t budge.

“What difference does it make if I leave? It’s not like I’m taking up an extra bed.” As if to prove her point, she shifted closer to Cassian in the infirmary cot, making her already petite body take up even less room.

“Captain Andor is to be processed for discharge. So you will keep your superfluous vow that he won’t wake up alone. Even though he wouldn’t be alone anyway. There are medical staff and med-droids present.”

Jyn was too alarmed by the droid’s revelation to mind the griping typical to its type.

“You’re discharging him?!” Jyn shifted, pushing herself up to study the unconscious man.

How well she knew every bruise and injury visible and many hidden by the white medical tunic and pants. She’d passed out herself from exhaustion as they began treating her injuries, but as soon as she’d woken up, she’d bullied, threatened and pleaded until they brought her to Cassian, making her wait outside the operating room, only able to watch as they finished the surgeries and treatments. They’d let her curl up in a chair next to the Bacta tank they’d stuck him in afterward, and no one even questioned by the time he was relocated to an infirmary bed when she climbed in beside him.

She’d seen the bandages, bruises, burns and scars. And she knew how they’d changed as the hours, the days had passed. Barely days, just three days since Scarif. Were they insane? They were just going to turn him out, in his condition?

Apparently, they were.

The med-droid was already injecting him with something, and Cassian was rousing. Jyn’s heart beat faster and she practically held her breath, on her knees on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with anticipatory anxiety, clutching at her kyber crystal with one hand. His past few hours of sleep had been strained. He’d been unconscious but also tense, in pain. She’d felt it in the rigidity of his muscles, the periodic hitches in his breathing.

“Did you give him more meds for the pain, too?” she asked the droid. How could they ask him to get back on his feet when he was in so much pain just lying still?

“Yes. And the stimulant should keep him awake until he gets settled back into his quarters.”

Jyn sagged in relief slightly until Cassian came crashing back into reality with a gasp and a jerk, and bewildered, began to thrash. She threw herself on top of him, placing her hands on his shoulders to hold him down, hoping he wouldn’t hurt himself worse, but understanding how confused and frightened he must feel.

“Cassian, It’s Jyn.” As if that would make a difference to him, if he even remembered her upon waking from a days-long practically-a-coma, someone he’d only met far less than a week ago and since had suffered devastating traumas. “You’re safe. You’re on the rebel base on Yavin 4. In the infirmary.”

Almost instantly, he went still, calmed, like a switch had been thrown. But she supposed the man did have quick reflexes, was highly adaptable to various situations. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made it so long as a rebel spy.

“Jyn?” His eyes found her face. They were a little glassy and unfocused but were still, well, captivating, dark, intelligent and expressive. “What happened?”

“We did it.” She shifted back to kneeling beside him, gave him a smile, a genuine one albeit bittersweet. They had succeeded in their mission, but at a tremendous cost. “The plans to the Death Star were received by the fleet.”

“Are they planning an attack?” Cassian pushed himself up to a sitting position, wincing and inhaling sharply, making Jyn picture the freshly healed surgical incisions that were doubtless strained by the movement.

“I…” Jyn had never thought to ask. The moment she realized they weren’t going to die on that beach, making sure Cassian survived had become her only concern. “I don’t know.”

“I should report to Command.” Cassian moved to get out of the infirmary bed, but Jyn stopped him, grabbing his arm to hold him back. She shimmied across the bed and hopped off it to stand in front of him.

“If they needed any more information or intel, they would’ve asked me.” It sounded plausible, even though if they’d tried it, she couldn’t rightly say she would’ve cooperated (they hadn’t listened to her the last time she tried to convince them of the truth), but especially if it meant leaving Cassian’s side. Even for a moment. How had someone else become her primary, her only concern, that she now cared only for his welfare? “And you’re not in any shape to help. Give yourself a little more time to heal.”

She reached for him as he was already trying to stand, stiffening and wobbling for a moment when he was fully upright. But Jyn would support him without him needing to ask, slid her arms around his waist and tucked her shoulder under one of his arms. He leaned into her, likely without even realizing it. From what Jyn could tell, Cassian was an independent sort of person, like herself, but unlike herself, was not too proud to accept help, being more of a team player than she ever had been.

His fingers went to pinch the bridge of his nose and his eyes squeezed shut. He took a long, deep breath, swaying a little.

“How far are your quarters from the infirmary?” she asked.

He sighed. That close, was it?

“Can you make it? If I help you?” Jyn looked around, but the droid had already stripped the bed and skittered off. She would go find whatever he needed for assistance because maybe he was a little proud, too, and had sacrificed a good portion of his independence by leaning on her. She waited, letting him decide, despite her wanting to wrap him up in soft warm blankets in a fluffy bed of pillows and keep him safe.

“Let’s try it. I should probably find out how bad the damage is sooner than later.” His expression had gone tight and unreadable, and her heart broke to think of the justified fear he must be feeling, that he may have suffered permanent damage that could affect the rest of his life, that might take away his purpose of serving the rebellion.

“They healed the blaster wound easily, but you’ve got an impressive scar,” she said as he took a tentative step, using her like a crutch, not questioning why or how she knew his wounds and medical diagnosis and treatments. “The fractures in your vertebrae and ribs probably haven’t completely knitted yet but the prognosis is good.”

Well, this wasn’t so bad. His weight was a burden making her own steps difficult, but Jyn didn’t begrudge it, not when it meant he was alive, and on his feet even. And they were already at the infirmary door. The medical staff hadn’t given them even a second look, but Jyn steeled herself for the possibility of stares as they entered the rest of the base. She couldn’t care less but these were Cassian’s fellow soldiers and he deserved their respect and not pity.

“They replaced your hip and part of your femur,” she said when they entered the hallway.

“Is that why it feels like I’ve been sliced open from my ribs down to my knee?”

“They sealed you back up.”

A light chuckle escaped him. “Things could be worse, then.”

They could, they really could. If Jyn were to make comparisons, it wasn’t just the fact that they hadn’t died on Scarif like it seemed they should’ve, but this situation she found herself in, saddled with a wounded spy (by her own choosing), on a rebel base, a Death Star out there somewhere in the galaxy… It was still the best place she’d been in since… Since she was abandoned by Saw at 16? Since her mother had died and her father had been taken?

Part of her that enjoyed the warmth of Cassian’s body beside hers, the feel of his wiry flank beneath her hand, the smell of his skin, even the weight of him he placed on her shoulders, that part proposed that this was the best situation, the best time in her entire life.

How pathetic did that make her?

She enjoyed dragging a severely wounded man around some giant old ruins half-reclaimed by the jungle converted to a military base… sort of base… The Alliance was so loosely confederated, everything seemed slapped together and piecemeal.

But hopefully the medical facilities had been up to par… They had seemed nicer than anything Jyn had ever experienced. But that wasn’t saying much at all.

“You need a minute?” she asked, finally realizing Cassian’s steps and breathing had become labored. She maneuvered him towards a wall and leaned up against it with him, nodding to a passing rebel soldier of indeterminable rank and unnotable appearance.

“Maybe it would’ve been better if you’d left me on Scarif,” he said, his voice low, quiet and pained as he almost-panted, sagging against the ancient stone wall.

“No,” she said. “You don’t mean that.”

“I was ready to die.”

She didn’t want to hear this. The meds and the strain were making him say things. She told him as much.

He shook his head.

“Listen to me, Jyn.”

What could she do? What could she say? That she didn’t want to hear how he valued his life so little, that he’d throw it away just for the slim chance of providing an opportunity for the rebellion to destroy some Imperial weapon, a terrifying one, but one weapon of many. She-

“I felt peace. For the first time in my life, probably.” His voice had gotten even lower and quieter, almost a whisper, wistful even. Jyn didn’t dare look at him, had to concentrate on breathing normally when she felt his fingers slip into her hand. It was easier to consider her unsolicited affection for the man when he was giving no indication of whether or not he returned it. “And I think it was because you were there. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I didn’t feel alone.”

Oh, Force. He was getting delirious, saying things that, from what she knew of him, he would never share even if he did feel them.

“Come on, let’s get you back to your own bed.”

He didn’t say anything else as they traversed several more halls, and Jyn wondered if she’d hurt his feelings by not responding to his raw, quiet confession. But he continued to lean on her without any hesitation and the silence between them felt comfortable. It was strange. He’d made her so tense in the beginning, the way he watched her, how secretive he was, so guarded. But somehow, somewhere along the way, she grew to not only feel comfortable with Cassian Andor, but to trust him as she’d never trusted anyone else before.

And she thought, maybe he trusted her in return. He followed her on a suicide mission, let her support his injured, vulnerable self on Scarif, let her drag him off that cursed planet, and now lead him across the rebel base, passing by people who really amounted to the only family he’d ever had.

There weren’t many, however. And none stopped. Or stared, too much. The med droid must have been right about the incoming survivors of the skirmish, everyone seemed a little rushed and mission-oriented. Or maybe there was more going on…

“Stop. Stop.”

Jyn immediately froze.

“Are you okay?” she asked, shifting beneath Cassian’s weight to try to get a good look at his face. “Do you need a break?”

“We’re home,” Cassian said, his eyelids sliding nearly shut before they shot open again.

“Oh,” Jyn said, ignoring the way something fluttered inside of her over his choice of words. “Which one?”

“Left side of the hall.” He indicated the door directly to their left with a nod of his head. The stimulant must be failing to combat the pain meds, and his body’s need to rest, to heal. Because he was getting heavier and more slack in her arms.

They staggered over to the door to his quarters and he was at least coherent enough to punch his code into the lock. His room was by no means large, barely larger than Jyn’s cell on Wobani. But at least he didn’t have a cellmate, er, bunkmate… Well, not officially…

She basically dumped him on the narrow bed, which he didn’t seem to mind at all, making a groaning sound of relief and taking several deep breaths, his legs hanging awkwardly off the side. Not knowing what else to do, she bent to lift his legs and slide them onto the bed, forcing him to lay down in a less uncomfortable position. She pulled the white slip-on infirmary shoes off his feet and tossed them in a corner, feeling only a flash of contrition over sullying the pristine room. It was so austere, even with two of the walls comprised of the old stone of the ancient temple. It could’ve been anyone’s quarters. No. That was wrong. It’s nondescriptness, everything hidden away in the meager storage units, only Cassian would keep his personal space in such a spartan manner.

“Cassian…?”

He mumbled something she took to imply he was listening and not passed out yet.

“Do you have extra bedding? A blanket or something?” She could do without. She had, many times. But it would be a little bit better than sleeping on the bare hard stone floor.

“No… Jungle moon… Already too hot… Why?”

“I was going to sleep here, if you don’t mind,” Jyn said. Why was this an awkward conversation to have? Why was she so afraid he’d say no, send her away? “On the floor.”

His eyes opened and that furrow formed between his brows as he studied her with a gaze that seemed to be having trouble focusing. But then he was scooching over until he was almost touching the wall.

“I think this is a nanometer larger than the infirmary cot,” he said. “What do you think?”

Jyn tried not to smile as she kicked off her own flimsy infirmary shoes and climbed onto Cassian’s bed to stretch out beside him. Something inside her sighed, content. She didn’t let it out.

“I don’t know…” she said. “But I guess if they made the infirmary beds nicer than the barracks, they’d have sick rebels all the time.”

A chuckle escaped through his nose.

“I don’t think they usually offer an ángel as a companion, either.”

“What?” Jyn shifted onto her side to study his face. His eyes were closed and he seemed content. The pain meds must be working.

“My mother was a believer in an Ancient Festian religion that worshipped a creator god. I don’t remember very many specifics...” Jyn didn’t dare breathe out, afraid of interrupting the story, softly spoken with hints of nostalgia, sharing a childhood memory, an intimacy she knew Cassian permitted, well, probably no one. “Except, there were these creatures that did the creator’s bidding, guiding people, aiding them, saving them… Angeles… I don’t know the word in Basic…”

He looked at her, and her apprehension about breaking the spell ebbed. Cassian knew full well who he was talking to, even if the pain meds had loosened his tongue, broken down the rigid walls he kept around his private self.

“I don’t know the word, either,” Jyn said. “I’’ve never heard of such creatures, mythical or otherwise.”

Cassian laughed, a soft little rumble that was accompanied by that rare smile of his that was brighter than a yellow dwarf sun and warmed her just as well. But, “What’s funny about that?”

“You…” His hand found hers, fingers sliding against her palm to curl around hers, engulfing her smaller hand. He shifted to face her, wincing a little, but his expression was soft if serious and . “Jyn, you saved me, guided me, are still coming to my aid… You’re my angelita…”

Oh, shit, he was so tired and drugged up he was becoming incoherent. Hopefully, he wouldn’t remember saying such emotional things- oh.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her knuckles, making her swallow a gasp of surprise, and fight the sigh when he held her hand to his chest as he lay back, his eyelids finally losing the battle and sliding shut.

Oh, Cassian…

“Don’t worship me,” she whispered to his sleeping form. “I’m nothing worth venerating.”

Of course, was she behaving any different when it came to him?

They were quite the mess, the two of them.

She wriggled her fingers in his hold until she was able to interlace them with his and feel the warmth of his palm against hers. Jyn closed her eyes, immersing herself in the quiet, safe moment.

#fic: give me a reason #Rogue One #fanfiction #rebelcaptain #cassian x jyn #Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso

[arvandus]

Touch (Pt 2)

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ only please!  Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

Synopsis: When you first joined the LOV to lend your healing quirk, Dabi  terrified you.  Not interested in attachments, he wanted to keep it  that way.  That is, until he needs your help. (Slow burn, soft Dabi).

Time Frame: Right before the League meets Overhaul

Additional notes: I took some liberty in giving Reader a backstory that fits in with the BNHA world and is important for the story.  If that bothers you, I apologize - just think of it as role playing!  Also, this’ll probably be broken up into 8-10 parts, roughly.  JUST KIDDING - this has now turned into an epic (roughly) 40 chapter series.  Oops.

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters.

Recommended Chapter Song: Cradles by Sub Urban

Part 1

Artwork credit to @hellowon31​ on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Part 2 - A Crack In The Armor

The pain came back, just as you said it would.   What you didn’t mention was that the numbness would gradually fade away.  It might sound nice to some, but Dabi hated it. He felt like he was driving towards a cliff in slow motion, waiting for the crash, unable to turn the wheel.  He had no control.  He hated this feeling of helplessness and traded it for anger instead. Why did he even ask for your help to begin with?

His answer was given to him as soon as your quirk’s effect finally stopped.  Dabi stared angrily at the empty pill bottles. It was amazing how quickly the brain adapted, his body acting as if he’d never had to deal with his damaged nerves before.  He had half a mind to hunt you down and demand you take care of it. He didn’t, of course, pride the deciding factor.  The scars were his, a series of choices made, a patchwork flag he wore into battle.  They were his burden and a reminder of his fight; he wasn’t going to give that up so easily.  Still, he couldn’t deny the temptation that surrounded him like a cloud, even if all he did was entertain the thought. 

Dabi waited all day for your visit until finally your characteristic knock on his door rewarded his patience.  He stood from his bed and cooled his features into their typical mask before opening the door. There you stood, keen eyes already assessing him.

“Can I come in?” you asked. Like the day before, he stepped aside just enough to let you pass.  He had discovered yesterday that he liked having your presence close to him… it gave his pulse a little rush.  He caught a whiff of your shampoo as you gingerly passed him and felt the softness of your shirt as it brushed against his own like a whisper.  His grip on the doorknob tightened.

As soon as Dabi closed the door behind you, you got started.  You were determined to be strictly business.  “How’re you feeling?” you asked, keeping your tone even, the perfect balance of concern and professionalism.  Dabi wanted to laugh.  Were you always this serious?

“Like shit.” He grinned. “That quirk of yours is potent stuff.”

You couldn’t help but let a grin escape in response to his candid words, a fracture in your hastily built armor.  “Not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

“It’s a compliment.” He stated.

You felt your throat go tight.  Stay on task.  Stay on task.  You cleared your throat slightly as you averted your eyes from him.  “Well, let’s have a look.”

With a little less flair than yesterday, he removed his jacket like before, followed by his shirt as he turned around to display his back for you.

You could see that the bandages were seeped through.  You had laid them on thick since you knew you wouldn’t be able to check on him as often as you’d like – he was still going out to do Shigaraki’s bidding and you had others to look after as well.  You were planning on seeing him daily, but it looked like he’d need more. 

Your little checkups were far from over.  You couldn’t help but wonder what he thought about that.  You honestly weren’t sure what you thought about it yourself.

“I’m going to use my quirk and then change your bandages.  I’ll check on you again tomorrow morning before you leave.”

“How often do we have to do this?” Dabi asked.  His tone was difficult to decipher.  Concerned? Annoyed? …Hopeful?

You cleared your throat again, desperate for a glass of water, as you began to remove the soiled gauze. “I’ll probably visit you twice daily for the first week, then reduce it to once a day or every couple of days for the second week.  We’ll see where we are by then.  It’ll take at least a few weeks before it’s fully healed.  That’s only if you’re good though, and don’t go out and use your quirk for a bit.”

“I won’t make any promises.” He replied.

You sighed.  “Well, at least your honest.  Really though, you should at least try not to use it.”

“That’s up to the Crusty Hands.” Dabi replied.  “He’s the one sending me out there to try to recruit members and gather intel.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname for Shigaraki.  “Couldn’t you ask him for a break then?” You asked, your head tilted. “No point in making you hurt yourself over lackey work.”

The question was innocent enough, but Dabi turned around and stared at you like you grew a second head. Ask Shigaraki for time off? The thought made Dabi bristle for so many reasons.

You quickly caught on to his shift in mood and tried to repair your previous statement. “Look.  I get it if that’s an issue for you. Maybe I could be the one to ask him.  I can make it a medical request, since I’m the healer.”

That option almost seemed worse.  He didn’t need to be excused from his duties like a child with a sick note. And he most certainly didn’t want you putting your neck out for him.

“Look, I know your still kinda new here.  So, let me break this down.  There is no ‘sick time’ in the League of Villains.  No vacation, no hazard pay.  We all got our jobs to do.”

Now you bristled, your shoulders tensing up and your arms crossed in front of you defensively. “Yeah.  And my job is to make sure you crazy idiots don’t kill yourselves before we complete our mission.  You know, the big long-term one where we change the world, not the pointless dirty work Shigaraki’s got you doing.”

“Pointless dirty work? That dirty work is how we reach that long-term goal, sweetheart.”   Dabi grinned devilishly.  “I didn’t realize you had such strong opinions about how we do things here.”

“Just the part about using your talents for recruiting street thugs.  Most of them are idiots that can’t tell Stain’s message from an anarchist bumper sticker.”

You were right, of course. Dabi chuckled.  You were more interesting than he thought.

“Look,” you said, your voice quieter as you uncrossed your arms.  “We’re all in this together come hell or high water, and I’m really hoping we can all see it through to the end.  If that means taking some time off to let your body recover, then I’d think that’d be worth doing.”

Dabi stared at you silently while something tightened in his chest.  Your need to hold everyone together like glue was admirable and almost… endearing.  He felt a sinking feeling in his gut.  He knew there was a high likelihood they wouldn’t all see the end of this, if the end ever even comes.  Did you know that but stubbornly hold onto your optimism?  Or were you really that naïve that you believed there was a chance that everyone could come out unscathed?  When the worst happens – which it inevitably will – will you blame yourself?

The thought bothered him.

For the first time Dabi’s mask slipped, and for the briefest of moments you could see the pity in his eyes.

“Thanks for the concern doll, but I got it under control.” Dabi said, his voice unusually calm. “Besides, if I took time off every time I hurt myself with my quirk, then I’d never be any use.”

Between his eyes and his words, there was no room for discussion, so you let the topic drop. 

You let out a defeated sigh. “Well then, let’s get started.” You placed your hands on his back.

Once again, the sweet balm of your touch spread across his skin, bringing back the relief he had missed. His body responded instinctively. His breathing slowed; his muscles relaxed.  He closed his eyes, relishing in the sensation.  You noticed the slightest drop in his shoulders and a pang of sympathy washed over you like a wave.  You wished you could do more for him, but you had to conserve your quirk for the others too.

You cleaned his wound quickly and applied fresh bandages without any more talk.  As quickly as it had begun, it was over.  Without missing a beat, he pulled his shirt back on while you packed your items.

You turned to leave, but paused for a moment before turning back slightly, your eyes bravely locking with his.  “Try to get some rest… it’ll help your body heal faster.”

Dabi didn’t respond with his usual quips.  Instead, his electric blue eyes stared at you in a way that made your blood pulse in your ears and the air burn in your lungs.  You stood captivated for a moment, locked in his gaze, before finding your way out of the maze of his eyes and left his room, hearing the quiet click of the door behind you.

 Without a word, Dabi sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his hands.  His brow furrowed in confusion.

This was supposed to be a game.  A game of walls and mazes and misdirection. He was the ‘Asshole,’ full of snarky comments and flirty quips all while withholding his true self.  He didn’t need friends, just coworkers so he could carry out his mission and bring Stain’s vision to life before his quirk killed him.  But your magic hands dismantled his walls, allowing you to walk right in and get in his head with your stubborn heart.  He had cared. For the briefest of moments, he cared.

It was his game.  Why did he feel like he was losing?

______________________________________________________________

Part 3

__________________________________________________

Taglist: @lemonfvck​ @vs-redemption​ @inanabsentia​ @sheedaabee​ @toshiuwuu​ @marydragneell​ @chillinwithmybakubros​ @genuinelytodorokisbitch​ @sam-i-am-1025​

#Dabi x reader #Dabi #Dabi fanfic #bnha #mha #bnha imagine #soft dabi #fluff #slow burn #pining #long talks #intimacy #dabi is a todoroki #touya todoroki #dabi is touya #angst #trauma

[grigori77]

Movies of 2021 - My Pre-Summer Favourites (Part 2)

The Top Ten:

10.  ZACK SNYDER’S JUSTICE LEAGUE – one of the undisputable highlights of the Winter-Spring period has to be the long-awaited, much vaunted redressing of a balance that’s been a particular thorn in the side of DC cinematic fans for over three years now – the completion and restoration of the true, unadulterated original director’s cut of the painfully abortive DCEU team-up movie that was absolutely butchered when Joss Whedon took over from original director Zack Snyder and then heavily rewrote and largely reshot the whole thing.  It was a somewhat painful experience to view in cinemas back in 2017 – sure, there were bits that worked, but most of it didn’t and it wasn’t like the underrated Batman Vs Superman: Dawn of Justice, which improves immensely on subsequent viewings (especially in the three hour-long director’s cut).  No, Whedon’s film was a MESS.  Needless to say fans were up in arms, and once word got out that the finished film was not at all what Snyder originally intended, a vocal, forceful online campaign began to restore what quickly became known as the Snyder Cut.  Thank the gods that Warner Bros listened to them, ultimately taking advantage of the intriguing alternative possibilities provided by their streaming service HBO Max to allow Snyder to present his fully reinstated creation in its entirety.  The only remaining question, of course, is simply … is it actually any good? Well it’s certainly much more like BVS:DOG than Whedon’s film ever was, and there’s no denying that, much like the rest of Snyder’s oeuvre, this is a proper marmite movie – there are gonna people who hate it no matter what, but the faithful, the fans, or simply those who are willing to open their minds are going to find much to enjoy here. The damage has been thoroughly patched, most of the elements that didn’t work in the theatrical release having been swapped out or reworked so that now they pay off BEAUTIFULLY.  This time the quest of Bruce Wayne/Batman (Ben Affleck) and Diana Prince/Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot) to bring the first iteration of the Justice League together – half-Atlantean superhuman Arthur Curry/the Aquaman (Jason Momoa), lightning-powered speedster Barry Allan/the Flash (Fantastic Beasts’ Ezra Miller) and cybernetically-rebuilt genius Victor Stone/Cyborg (relative newcomer Ray Fisher) – not only feels organic, but NECESSARY, as does their desperate scheme to use one of the three alien Mother Boxes (no longer just shiny McGuffins but now genuinely well-realised technological forces that threaten cataclysm as much as they provide opportunity for miracles) to bring Clark Kent/Superman (Henry Cavill) back from the dead, especially given the far more compelling threat of this version’s collection of villains.  Ciaran Hinds’ mocapped monstrosity Steppenwolf is a far more palpable and interesting big bad this time round, given a more intricate backstory that also ties in a far greater ultimate mega-villain that would have become the DCEU’s Thanos had Snyder had his way to begin with – Darkseid (Ray Porter), tyrannical ruler of Apokolips and one of the most powerful and hated beings in the Universe, who could have ushered the DCEU’s now aborted New Gods storyline to the big screen.  The newer members of the League receive far more screen-time and vastly improved backstory too, Miller’s Flash getting a far more pro-active role in the storyline AND the action which also thankfully cuts away a lot of the clumsiness the character had in the Whedon version without sacrificing any of the nerdy sass that nonetheless made him such a joy, while the connective tissue that ties Momoa’s Aquaman into his own subsequent standalone movie feels much stronger here, and his connection with his fellow League members feels less perfunctory too, but it’s Fisher’s Cyborg who TRULY reaps the benefits here, regaining a whole new key subplot and storyline that ties into a genuinely powerful tragic origin story, as well as a far more complicated and ultimately rewarding relationship with his scientist father, Silas Stone (the great Joe Morton).  It’s also really nice to see Superman handled with the kind of skill we’d expect from the same director who did such a great job (fight me if you disagree) of bringing the character to life in two previous big screen instalments, as well as erasing the memory of that godawful digital moustache removal … similarly, it’s nice to see the new and returning supporting cast get more to do this time, from Morton and the ever-excellent J.K. Simmonds as fan favourite Gotham PD Commissioner Jim Gordon to Connie Nielsen as Diana’s mother, Queen Hippolyta of Themyscira and another unapologetic scene-stealing turn from Jeremy Irons as Batman’s faithful butler Alfred Pennyworth. Sure, it’s not a perfect movie – the unusual visual ratio takes some getting used to, while there’s A LOT of story to unpack here, and at a gargantuan FOUR HOURS there are times when the pacing somewhat lags, not to mention an overabundance of drawn-out endings (including a flash-forward to a potential apocalyptic future that, while evocative, smacks somewhat of overeager fan-service) that would put Lord of the Rings’ The Return of the King to shame, but original writer Chris Terrio’s reconstituted script is rich enough that there’s plenty to reward the more committed viewer, and the storytelling and character development is a powerful thing, while the action sequences are robust and thrilling (even if Snyder does keep falling back on his over-reliance on slow motion that seems to alienate some viewers), and the new score from Tom Holkenborg (who co-composed on BVS:DOJ) feels a far more natural successor than Danny Elfman’s theatrical compositions.  The end result is no more likely to win fresh converts than Man of Steel or Batman Vs Superman, but it certainly stands up far better to a critical eye this time round, and feels like a far more natural progression for the saga too.  Ultimately it’s more of an interesting tangential adventure given that Warner Bros seem to be stubbornly sticking to their original plans for the ongoing DCEU, but I can’t help hoping that they might have a change of heart in the future given just how much better the final product is than any of us had any right to expect …

9.  SYNCHRONIC – writer-director duo Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead are something of a creative phenomenon in the science-fiction and fantasy indie cinema scene, crafting films that ensnare the senses and engage the brain like few others.  Subtly insidious conspiracy horror debut Resolution is a sneaky little chiller, while deeply original body horror Spring (the film that first got me into them) is weird, unsettling and surprisingly touching, but it was breakthrough sleeper hit The Endless, a nightmarish time-looping cosmic horror that thoroughly screws with your head, that really put them on the map.  Needless to say it’s led them to greater opportunities heading into the future, and this is their first film to really reap the benefits, particularly by snaring a couple of genuine stars for its lead roles.  Steve (Anthony Mackie) and Dennis (Jamie Dornan) are paramedics working the night shift in New Orleans, which puts them on the frontlines when a new drug hits the streets, a dangerous concoction known as Synchronic that causes its users to experience weird localised fractures in time that frequently lead to some pretty outlandish deaths in adults, while teenage users often disappear entirely.  As the situation worsens, the pair’s professional and personal relationships become increasingly strained, compounded by the fact that Steve is concealing his recent diagnosis of terminal cancer, before things come to a head when Dennis’ teenage daughter Brianna (Into the Badlands’ Ally Ioannides) vanishes under suspicious circumstances, and it becomes clear to Steve that she’s become unstuck in time … this is as mind-bendingly off-the-wall and spectacularly inventive as we’ve come to expect from Benson and Moorhead, another fantastically original slice of weirdness that benefits enormously from their exquisitely obsessive attention to detail and characteristically unsettling atmosphere of building dread, while their character development is second to none, benefitting their top-notch cast no end.  Mackie is typically excellent, bringing compelling vulnerability to the role that makes it easy to root for him as he gets further out of his depth in this twisted temporal labyrinth, while Dornan invests Dennis with a painfully human fallibility, and Ioannides does a lot with very little real screen time in her key role as ill-fated Brianna.  The time-bending sequences are suitably disorienting and disturbing, utilising pleasingly subtle use of visual effects to further mess with your head, and the overall mechanics of the drug and its effects are fiendishly crafted, while the directors tighten the screw of slowburn tension throughout, building to a suitably offbeat ending that’s as devastating as anything we’ve seen from them so far.  Altogether this is another winning slice of genre-busting weirdness from a filmmaking duo who deserve continued success in the future, and I for one will be watching eagerly.

8.  WITHOUT REMORSE – I’m a big fan of Tom Clancy, to me he was one of the ultimate escapist thriller writers, and whenever a new adaptation of one of his novels comes along I’m always front of the line to check it out.  The Hunt For Red October is one of my favourite screen thrillers OF ALL TIME, while my very favourite Clancy adaptation EVER, the Jack Ryan TV series, is, in my opinion, one of the very best Original shows that Amazon have ever done.  But up until now my VERY FAVOURITE Clancy creation, John Clark, has always remained in the background or simply absent entirely, putting in an appearance as a supporting character in only two of the movies, tantalising me with his presence but never more than a teaser.  Well that’s all over now – after languishing in development hell since the mid-90s, the long-awaited adaptation of my favourite Clancy novel, the origin story of the top CIA black ops operative, has finally arrived, as well as a direct spin-off from distributor Amazon’s own Jack Ryan series.  Michael B. Jordan plays John Kelly (basically Clark before he gained his more famous cover identity), a lethally efficient, highly decorated Navy SEAL whose life is turned upside down when a highly classified operation experiences deadly blowback as half of his team is assassinated in retaliation, while Kelly barely survives an attack in which his heavily pregnant wife is killed.  With the higher-ups unwilling the muddy the waters while scrambling to control the damage, Kelly, driven by rage and grief, takes matters into his own hands, embarking on a violent personal crusade against the Russian operatives responsible, but as he digs deeper with the help of his former commanding officer, Lt. Commander Karen Greer (Queen & Slim’s Jodie Turner-Smith), and mid-level CIA hotshot Robert Ritter (Jamie Bell), it becomes clear that there’s a far more insidious conspiracy at work here … in the past the Clancy adaptations we’ve seen tend to be pretty tightly reined-in affairs, going for a PG-13 polish that maintains the intellectual fireworks but still tries to keep the violence clean and relatively family-friendly, but this was never going to be the case here – Clark has always been Jack Ryan’s dark shadow, Clancy’s righteous man without the moral restraint, and a PG-13 take never would have worked, so going for an unfettered R-rating is the right choice.  Jordan’s Kelly/Clark is a blood-soaked force of nature, a feral dog let off the leash, bringing a brutal ferocity to the action that does the literary source proud, tempered by a wounded vulnerability that helps us to sympathise with the broken but still very human man behind the killer; Turner-Smith, meanwhile, regularly matches him in the physical stakes, jumping into the action with enthusiasm and looking damn fine doing it, but she also brings tight control and an air of pragmatic military professionalism that makes it easy to believe in her not only as an accomplished leader of fighting men but also as the daughter of Admiral Jim Greer, while Bell is arrogant and abrasive but ultimately still a good man as Ritter; Guy Pearce, meanwhile, brings his usual gravitas and quietly measured charisma to proceedings as US Secretary of Defence Thomas Clay, and Lauren London makes a suitably strong impression during her brief screen time to make her absence keenly felt as Kelly’s wife Pam. The action is intense, explosive and spectacularly executed, culminating in a particularly impressive drawn-out battle through a Russian apartment complex, while the labyrinthine plot is intricately crafted and unfolds with taut precision, but then the screenplay was co-written by Taylor Sheridan, who here reteams with Sicario 2 director Stefano Sollida, who’s also already proven to be a seasoned hand at this kind of thing, and the result is a tense, knuckle-whitening suspense thriller that pays magnificent tribute to the most compelling creation of one of the best authors in the genre.  Amazon have signed up for more with already greenlit sequel Rainbow Six, and with this directly tied in with the Jack Ryan TV series too I can’t help holding out hope we just might get to see Jordan’s Clark backing John Krasinski’s Ryan up in the future …

7.  RAYA & THE LAST DRAGON – with UK cinemas still closed I’ve had to live with seeing ALL the big stuff on my frustratingly small screen at home, but at least there’s been plenty of choice with so many of the big studios electing to either sell some of their languishing big projects to online vendors or simply release on their own streaming services.  Thank the gods, then, for the House of Mouse following Warner Bros’ example and releasing their big stuff on Disney+ at the same time in those theatres that have reopened – this was one movie I was PARTICULARLY looking forward to, and if I’d had to wait and hope for the scheduled UK reopening to occur in mid-May I might have gone a little crazy watching everyone else lose it over something I still hadn’t seen.  That said, it WOULD HAVE been worth the wait – coming across sort-of a bit like Disney’s long overdue response to Dreamworks’ AWESOME Kung Fu Panda franchise, this is a spellbinding adventure in a beautifully thought-out fantasy world heavily inspired by Southeast Asia and its rich, diverse cultures, bursting with red hot martial arts action and exotic Eastern mysticism and brought to life by a uniformly strong voice cast dominated by actors of Asian descent.  It’s got a cracking premise, too – 500 years ago, the land of Kumandra was torn apart when a terrible supernatural force known as the Druun very nearly wiped out all life, only stopped by the sacrifice of the last dragons, who poured all their power and lifeforce into a mystical gem.  But when the gem is broken and the pieces divided between the warring nations of Fang, Heart, Spine, Tail and Talon, the Druun return, prompting Raya (Star Wars’ Kelly Marie Tran), the fugitive princess of Heart, to embark on a quest to reunite the gem pieces and revive the legendary dragon Sisu in a desperate bid to vanquish the Druun once and for all.  Moana director Don Hall teams up with Blindspotting helmer Carlos Lopez Estrada (making his debut in the big chair for Disney after helping develop Frozen), bringing to life a thoroughly inspired screenplay co-written by Crazy Rich Asians’ Adele Kim which is full to bursting with magnificent world-building, beautifully crafted characters and thrilling action, as well as the Disney prerequisites of playful humour and tons of heart and soul.  Tran makes Raya an feisty and engaging heroine, tough, stubborn and a seriously kickass fighter, but with true warmth and compassion too, while Gemma Chan is icy cool but deep down ultimately kind of sweet as her bitter rival, Fang princess Namaari, and there’s strong support from Benedict Wong and Good Boys’ Izaac Wang as hard-but-soft Spine warrior Tong and youthful but charismatic Tail shrimp-boat captain Boun, two of the warm-hearted found family that Raya gathers on her travels.  The true scene-stealer, however, is the always entertaining Awkwafina, bringing Sisu to life in wholly unexpected but thoroughly charming and utterly adorable fashion, a goofy, sassy and sweet-natured bundle of fun who grabs all the best laughs but also unswervingly champions the film’s core messages of peace, unity and acceptance in all things, something which Raya needs a lot of convincing to take to heart.  Visually stunning, endlessly inventive, consistently thrilling and frequently laugh-out-loud funny, this is another solid gold winner once again proving that Disney can do this kind of stuff in their sleep, but it’s always most interesting when they really make the effort to create something truly special, and that’s just what they’ve done here.  As far as I’m concerned, this is one of the studio’s finest animated features in a good long while, and thoroughly deserving of your praise and attention …

6.  THE MITCHELLS VS THE MACHINES – so what piece of animation, you might be asking, could POSSIBLY have won over Raya as my animated feature of the year so far? After all, it would have to be something TRULY special … but then, remember Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse?  Back in 2018, that blew me away SO MUCH that it very nearly became my top animated feature of THE PAST DECADE (only JUST losing out, ultimately, to Dreamworks’ unstoppable How to Train Your Dragon trilogy).  When I heard its creators, the irrepressible double act of Phil Lord and Christopher Miller (The Lego Movie, Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs), were going to be following that up with this anarchic screwball comedy adventure, I was VERY EXCITED INDEED, a fervour which was barely blunted when its release was, inevitably, indefinitely delayed thanks to the global pandemic, so when it finally released at the tail end of the Winter-Spring season I POUNCED. Thankfully my faith was thoroughly rewarded – this is an absolute riot from start to finish, a genuine cinematic gem I look forward to going back to for repeated viewings in the near future, just to soak up the awesomeness – it’s hilarious to a precision-crafted degree, brilliantly thought-out and SPECTACULARLY well-written by acclaimed Gravity Falls writer-director Mike Rianda (who also helms here), injecting the whole film with a gleefully unpredictable, irrepressibly irreverent streak of pure chaotic genius that makes it a affectionately endearing and utterly irresistible joyride from bonkers start to adorable finish.  The central premise is pretty much as simple as the title suggests, the utterly dysfunctional family in question – father Rick (Danny McBride), born outdoorsman and utter technophobe, mother Linda (Maya Rudolph), much put-upon but unflappable even in the face of Armageddon, daughter Katie (Broad City co-creator Abbi Jacobson), tech-obsessed and growing increasingly estranged from her dad, and son Aaron (Rianda himself), a thoroughly ODD dinosaur nerd – become the world’s only hope after naïve tech mogul Mark Bowman (Eric Andre), founder of PAL Labs, inadvertently sets off a robot uprising.  Cue a wild ride comedy of errors of EPIC proportions … this is just about the most fun I’ve had with a movie so far this year, an absolute riot throughout, but there’s far more to it than just a pile of big belly laughs, with the Mitchells all proving to be a lovable bunch of misfits who inspire just as much deep, heartfelt affection as they learn from their mistakes and finally overcome their differences, becoming a better, more loving family in the process, McBride and Jacobson particularly shining as they make our hearts swell and put a big lump in our throat even while they make us titter and guffaw, while the film has a fantastic larger than (virtual) life villain in PAL (Olivia Colman), the virtual assistant turned megalomaniacal machine intelligence spearheading this technological revolution.  Much like its Spider-Man-shaped predecessor, this is also an absolutely STUNNING film, visually arresting and spectacularly inventive and bursting with neat ideas and some truly beautiful stylistic flair, frequently becoming a genuine work of cinematic art that’s as much a feast for the eyes as it is the intellect and, of course, the soul.  Altogether then, this is definitely the year’s most downright GORGEOUS film so far, as well as UNDENIABLY its most FUN.  Lord and Miller really have done it again.

5.  P.G. PSYCHO GOREMAN – the year’s current undeniable top guilty pleasure has to be this fantastic weird, thoroughly over-the-top and completely OUT THERE black comedy cosmic horror that doesn’t so much riff on the works of HP Lovecraft as throw them in a blender, douse them with maple syrup and cayenne pepper and then hurl the sloppy results to the four winds.  On paper it sounds like a family-friendly cutesy comedy take on Call of Cthulu et al, but trust me, this sure ain’t one for the kids – the latest indie horror offering from Steven Kostanski, co-creator of the likes of Manborg, Father’s Day and The Void, this is one of the weirdest movies I’ve seen in years, but it’s also one of the most gleefully funny, playing itself entirely for yucks (frequently LITERALLY).  Mimi (Nita Josee-Hanna) and Luke (Owen Myre) are a two small-town Canadian kids who dig a big hole of their backyard, accidentally releasing the Arch-Duke of Nightmares (Matthew Ninaber and the voice of Steven Vlahos), an ancient, god-tier alien killing machine who’s been imprisoned for aeons in order to protect the universe from his brutal crusade of death and destruction.  To their parents’ dismay, Mimi decides to keep him, renaming him Psycho Goreman (or “P.G.” for short) and attempting to curb his superpowered murderous impulses so she can have a new playmate. But the monster’s original captors, the Templars of the Planetary Alliance, have learned of his escape, sending their most powerful warrior, Pandora (Kristen McCulloch), to destroy him once and for all.  Yup, this movie is just as loony tunes as it sounds – Kostanski injects the film with copious amounts of his own outlandish, OTT splatterpunk extremity, bringing us a riotous cavalcade of bizarrely twisted creatures and mutations (brought to life through some deliciously disgusting prosthetic effects work) and a series of wonderfully off-kilter (not to mention frequently off-COLOUR) darkly comic skits and escapades, while the sense of humour is pretty bonkers but also generously littered with nuggets of genuine sharply observed genius.  The cast, although made up almost entirely of unknowns, is thoroughly game, and the kids particularly impress, especially Josee-Hanna, who plays Mimi like a flamboyant, mercurial miniature psychopath whose zinger-delivery is clipped, precise and downright hilarious throughout.  There are messages of love conquering all and the power of family, both born and made, buried somewhere in there too, but ultimately this is just 90 minutes of wonderful weirdness that’s sure to melt your brain but still leave you with a big dumb green when it’s all over.  Which is all we really want from a movie like this, right?

4.  SPACE SWEEPERS – all throughout the pandemic and the interminable lockdowns, Netflix have been a consistent blessing to those of us who’ve been craving the kind of big budget blockbusters we have (largely) been unable to get at the cinema.  Some of my top movies of 2020 were Netflix Originals, and they’ve continued the trend into 2021, having dropped some choice cuts on us over the past four months, with some REALLY impressive offerings still to come as we head into the summer season (roll on, Zack Snyder’s Army of the Dead!).  In the meantime, my current Netflix favourite of the year so far is this phenomenal milestone of Korean cinema, lauded as the country’s first space blockbuster, which certainly went big instead of going home. Writer-director Jo Sung-hee (A Werewolf Boy, Phantom Detective) delivers big budget thrills and spills with a bombastic science-fiction adventure cast in the classic Star Wars mould, where action, emotion and fun characters count for more than an admittedly simplistic but still admirably archetypical and evocative plot – it’s 2092, and the Earth has become a toxic wasteland ruined by overpopulation and pollution, leading the wealthy to move into palatial orbital habitats in preparation for the impending colonisation of Mars, while the poor and downtrodden are packed into rotting ghetto satellites facing an uncertain future left behind to fend for themselves, and the UTS Corporation jealously guard the borders between rich and poor, presided over by seemingly benevolent but ultimately cruel sociopathic genius CEO James Sullivan (Richard Armitage).  Eking out a living in-between are the space sweepers, freelance spaceship crews who risk life and limb by cleaning up dangerous space debris to prevent it from damaging satellites and orbital structures.  The film focuses on the crew of sweeper vessel Victory, a ragtag quartet clearly inspired by the “heroes” of Cowboy Bebop – Captain Jang (The Handmaiden’s Kim Tae-ri), a hard-drinking ex-pirate with a mean streak and a dark past, ace pilot Kim Tae-ho (The Battleship Island’s Song Joong-ki), a former child-soldier with a particularly tragic backstory, mechanic Tiger Park (The Outlaws’ Jin Seon-Kyu), a gangster from Earth living in exile in orbit, and Bubs (a genuinely flawless mocapped performance from A Taxi Driver’s Yoo Hae-jin), a surplus military robot slumming it as a harpooner so she can earn enough for gender confirmation.  They’re a fascinating bunch, a mercenary band who never think past their next paycheque, but there’s enough good in them that when redemption comes knocking – in the form of Kang Kot-nim (newcomer Park Ye-rin), a revolutionary prototype android in the form of a little girl who may hold the key to bio-technological ecological salvation – they find themselves answering the call in spite of their misgivings.  The four leads are exceptional (as is their young charge), while Armitage makes for a cracking villain, delivering subtle, restrained menace by the bucketload every time he’s onscreen, and there’s excellent support from a fascinating multinational cast who perform in a refreshingly broad variety of languages. Jo delivers spectacularly on the action front, wrangling a blistering series of adrenaline-fuelled and explosive set-pieces that rival anything George Lucas or JJ Abrams have sprung on us this century, while the visual effects are nothing short of astounding, bringing this colourful, eclectic and dangerous universe to vibrant, terrifying life; indeed, the world-building here is exceptional, creating an environment you’ll feel sorely tempted to live in despite the pitfalls.  Best of all, though, there’s tons of heart and soul, the fantastic found family dynamic at the story’s heart winning us over at every turn. Ultimately, while you might come for the thrills and spectacle, you’ll stay for these wonderful, adorable characters and their compelling tale.  An undeniable triumph.

3.  JUDAS & THE BLACK MESSIAH – I’m a little fascinated by the Black Panther Party, I find them to be one of the most intriguing elements of Black History in America, but outside of documentaries I’ve never really seen a feature film that’s truly done the movement justice, at least until now.  It’s become a major talking point of the Awards Season, and it’s easy to see why – director Shaka King is a protégé of Spike Lee, and together with up-and-coming co-screenwriter Wil Berson he’s captured the fire and fervour of the Party and their firebrand struggle for racial liberation through force of arms, as well as a compelling portrait of one of their most important figures, Fred Hampton, the Chairman of the Illinois Chapter of the BPP and a powerful political activist who could have become the next Martin Luther King or Malcolm X.  Get Out’s Daniel Kaluuya is magnificent in the role, effortlessly holding your attention in every scene with his laconic ease and deceptively friendly manner, barely hinting at the zealous fire blazing beneath the surface, but the film’s true focus is the man who brought him down, William O’Neal, a fellow Panther and FBI informant placed in the Chapter to infiltrate the movement and find a way for the US Government to bring down what they believed to be one of the country’s greatest internal threats.  Lakeith Stanfield (Sorry to Bother You, Knives Out) delivers a suitably complex performance as O’Neal, perfectly embodying a very clever but also very desperate man walking a constant tightrope to maintain his cover in some decidedly wary company, but there’s never any real sense that he’s playing the villain, Stanfield largely garnering sympathy from the viewer as we’re shamelessly made to root for him, especially once he starts falling for the very ideals he’s trying to subvert – it’s a true star-making performance, and he even holds his own playing opposite Kaluuya himself.  The rest of the cast are equally impressive, Dominique Fishback (Project Power, The Deuce) particularly holding our attention as Hampton’s fiancée and fellow Panther Akua Njeri, as does Jesse Plemmons as O’Neal’s idealistic but sympathetic FBI handler Roy Mitchell, while Martin Sheen is the film’s nominal villain in a chillingly potent turn as J. Edgar Hoover.  This is an intense and thrilling film, powered by a tense atmosphere of pregnant urgency and righteous fury, but while there are a few grittily realistic set pieces, the majority of the fireworks on display are performance based, the cast giving their all and King wrestling a potent and emotionally resonant, inescapably timely history lesson that informs without ever slipping into preachy exposition, leaving an unshakable impression long after the credits have rolled.  This doesn’t just earn all the award-winning kudos it gained, it deserved A LOT MORE recognition that it got, and if this were a purely critical rundown list I’d have to put it in the top spot.  As it is I’m monumentally enamoured of this film, and I can’t sing its praises enough …

2.  RUN, HIDE, FIGHT – the biggest surprise hit for me so far this year was this wicked little indie suspense thriller from writer-director Kyle Rankin (Night of the Living Deb), which snuck in under the radar but is garnering an impressive reputation as a future cult sleeper hit.  Critics have been less kind, but the subject matter is a pretty thorny issue, and if handled the wrong way it could have been in very poor taste indeed.  Thankfully Rankin has crafted a corker here, initially taking time to set the scene and welcome the players before throwing us headfirst into an unbelievably tense but also unsettlingly believable situation – a small town American high school becomes the setting for a fraught siege when a quartet of disturbed students take several of their classmates hostage at gunpoint, creating a social media storm in the process as they encourage the capture of the crisis on phone cameras. While the local police gather outside, the shooters discover another threat from within the school throwing spanners in the works – Zoe Hull (Alexa & Katie’s Isabel May), a seemingly nondescript girl who happens to be the daughter of former marine scout sniper Todd (Thomas Jane).  She’s wound pretty tight after the harrowing death of her mother to cancer, fuelled by grief and conditioned by her father’s training, so she’s determined to get her friends and classmates out of this nightmare, no matter what.  Okay, so the premise reads like Die Hard in a school, but this is a very different beast, played for gritty realism and shot with unshowy cinema-verité simplicity, Rankin cranking up the tension beautifully but refusing to play to his audience any more than strictly necessary, drip-feeding the thrills to maximum effect but delivering some harrowing action nonetheless.  The cast are top-notch too, Jane delivering a typically subtle, nuanced turn while Treat Williams is likeably stoic as world-weary but dependable local Sherriff Tarsey, Rhada Mitchell intrigues as the matter-of-fact phantom of Zoe’s mum, Jennifer, that she’s concocted to help her through her mourning, Olly Sholotan is sweetly geeky as her best friend Lewis, and Eli Brown raises genuine goosebumps as an all-too-real teen psychopath in the role of terrorist ringleader Tristan Voy.  The real beating heart and driving force of the film, though, is May, intense, barely restrained and all but vibrating with wounded fury, perfectly believable as the diminutive high school John McClane who defies expectations to become a genuine force to be reckoned with, as far as I’m concerned one of this year’s TOP female protagonists.  Altogether this is a cracking little thriller, a precision-crafted little action gem that nonetheless raises some troubling questions and treats its subject matter with utmost care and respect, a film that’s destined for major cult classic status, and I can’t recommend it enough.

1.  NOBODY – do you love the John Wick movies but you just wish they took themselves a bit less seriously?  Well fear not, because Derek Kolstad has delivered fantastically on that score, the JW screenwriter mashing his original idea up with the basic premise of the Taken movies (former government spook/assassin turned unassuming family man is forced out of retirement and shit gets seriously trashed as a result) and injecting a big dollop of gallows humour.  This time he’s teamed up with Ilya Naishuller, the stone-cold lunatic who directed the deliriously insane but also thoroughly brilliant Hardcore Henry, and the results are absolutely unbeatable, a pitch perfect jet black action comedy bursting with neat ideas, wonderfully offbeat characters and ingenious plot twists.  Better Call Saul’s Bob Odenkirk is perfect casting as Hutch Mansell, the aforementioned ex-“Auditor”, a CIA hitman who grew weary of the lifestyle and quit to find some semblance of normality with his wife Becca (Connie Nielsen), with whom he’s had two kids.  Ultimately, he seems to have “overcompensated”, and his life has stagnated, Hutch following a autopiloted day-to-day routine that’s left him increasingly unfulfilled … then fate intervenes and a series of impulsive choices see him falling back on his old ways while defending a young woman from drunken thugs on a late night bus ride.  Problem is, said lowlifes work for the Russian Mob, specifically Yulian Kuznetsov (Leviathan’s Aleksei Serebryakov), a Bratva boss charged with guarding the Obshak, who must exact brutal vengeance in order to save face. Cue much bloody violence and entertaining chaos … Kolstad can do this sort of thing in his sleep, but his writing married with Naishuller’s singularly BONKERS vision means that the anarchy is dialled right up to eleven, while the gleefully dark sense of humour shot through makes the occasional surreality and bitingly satirical observation on offer all the more exquisite.  Odenkirk is a low-key joy throughout, initially emasculated and pathetic but becoming more comfortable in his skin as he reconnects with his old self, while Serebryakov hams things up spectacularly, chewing the scenery with aplomb; Nielsen, meanwhile, brings her characteristic restrained classiness to proceedings, Christopher Lloyd and the RZA are clearly having the time of their lives as, respectively, Hutch’s retired FBI agent father David and fellow ex-spook half-brother Harry, and there’s a wonderfully game cameo from the incomparable Colin Salmon as Hutch’s former handler, the Barber.  Altogether then, this is the perfect marriage of two fantastic worlds – an action-packed thrill ride as explosively impressive as John Wick, but also a wickedly subversive laugh riot every bit as blissfully inventive as Hardcore Henry, and undeniably THE BEST MOVIE I’ve seen so far this year.  Sure, there’s some pretty heavyweight stuff set to (FINALLY) come out later this year, but this really will take some beating …

#movies 2021 #zack snyder's justice league #synchronic #synchronic movie #without remorse #raya and the last dragon #the mitchells vs the machines #pg psycho goreman #psycho goreman #space sweepers #judas and the black messiah #run hide fight #nobody #nobody movie

[crazy4dragons]

Everything Will Be Okay

Astrid comforts Hiccup after he finds out his injuries from a car accident are more serious than he thought. Pure fluff! Like Heaven AU. Hiccstrid are about 16 here.

Hearing her phone ring, Astrid turned her attention away from her homework and looked at the caller ID.

Hiccup 😜

“Hey, Hiccup,”  she greeted as she accepted the call.

“Are you busy?” came Hiccup’s voice through the speaker.

“I’m just doing homework. Why, what’s up?”

Hiccup sighed. “I had physical therapy today. You know, for my leg. And my therapist told me that I’m not making the progress he thought I would.”

“Listen, you shattered your bone pretty badly. And with the fracture in your ankle, too, it might take longer than expected for everything to heal all the way.”

“That’s the thing, Astrid. It’s not going to heal all the way.” Hiccup’s voice cracked. “The doctors are recommending I get a second surgery. And if that doesn’t work, I might have to use a wheelchair off and on for the rest of my life. Or maybe just a cane if I’m lucky, but I don’t want to be walking around like an old man with a walking stick. Do you know how much I’ll get teased at school? If I can ever go back to school?”

“But there’s also a chance the second surgery could work, right?”

“I guess, but even if it does, my limp will never go away permanently.” He sniffled.

Astrid frowned. “Hiccup? Are you crying?”

He didn’t reply.

“Are you still there? Hiccup?”

“Can you…can you come over? I need you,” Hiccup said, still sniffling. “And if it’s okay with your mom, do you think you could just stay the night?”

“I’ll ask, but she might say no because it’s a school night. Are your parents there?”

“Yeah, both of them are here. I’ll be honest with you, Astrid, I cried the whole way home from physical therapy, and cried more when we got home. My mom sat with me for a while, but she thought that maybe it would help take my mind off of everything if you came over.”

Astrid shut her laptop and, putting her phone on speaker and resting it on her desk, began to pack up her school supplies. “Yeah, I can come for at least a couple hours. I’ll check with my mom about sleeping over, too. Is there anything you want me to bring?”

“No. But if you’re down to cuddle, that would be great.”

“Of course I am.”

“Great. Well, I’ll let you go, then. Do you need my dad to come pick you up?”

“No, I can walk.”

“But Astrid, it’s freezing out. And dark.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll ask my dad come get you. I’ll tell him to be there in fifteen.”

“Okay, if you insist. I’ll talk to my mom about the sleepover and text you to let you know what she says.”

“Sounds good. See you in a bit, then.”

“See you. Bye.”

“Bye.”

…

Twenty minutes later, Astrid walked into Hiccup’s house, her overnight bag over her shoulder and a pillow under her arm.

“Hello, dear,” greeted Valka. “I’m so glad you could come. Hiccup could really use a friend.”

“Is he in his room?”

“Yes, love, he’s in his room. Did you have dinner yet? Stoick made pan-seared salmon and noodles. We have leftovers if you’re hungry.”

“No, I didn’t have dinner yet. Do you mind if I bring a plate to Hiccup’s room?”

Valka looked at the things in Astrid’s arms. “Why don’t you go on up and get settled in, and I’ll bring it up to you?”

“Thank you,” smiled the blonde. She ascended the stars and knocked on Hiccup’s door. “Hey, it’s me.”

“Come in.”

Astrid twisted the doorknob and, after putting her bag and pillow down, shuffled over to where Hiccup was sitting with red eyes and a box of tissues and wrapped him in a hug. “You know, no matter what happens, you’ll still have me.”

Unable to hold back his tears, Hiccup broke out into a sob. “I just want to be normal,” he cried, burying his face into Astrid’s shoulder.

“Shhh, it’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay,” repeated Astrid, running her fingers through his hair and hugging him closer. By the time Valka came upstairs with her dinner, he had stopped crying and settled back against the pillows, clutching Astrid’s hand for comfort.

“Here you go, Astrid,” Valka said, handing the blonde a warm plate of food. “And what about you, dear? How are you feeling?” She bent down and kissed Hiccup’s forehead. “Do you want any dessert? Or a soda?”

Hiccup shook his head. “No thanks, Mom.”

“Alright, well if you change your mind, just call me. I’ll be back to say goodnight in a little while. Just try not to worry too much, okay? I love you.”

“Love you, Mom.” Hiccup briefly hugged his mother before turning back to Astrid. “I’m just tired of the hospital. And surgery. And being stuck in bed. And I know the kids at school are gonna tease me if I show up with a cane. Or even a wheelchair.”

“They’re jerks if they tease you,” said Astrid, scooping noodles into her mouth. “But as for me, I’d much rather have you alive and needing a little help to walk than have you in your grave. Do you know how worried I was when I heard you were in an accident? And how scared I was when you were in your coma?”

“The coma was only two days,” Hiccup pointed out. “And seeing that I don’t remember it, it’s the least of my worries.”

“But from my perspective, all I could think about was, what if I lose my best friend?”

“And what kind of a friend will I be if I can’t do anything with you besides sit and talk?”  

“I like talking to you,” shrugged Astrid.  “And besides, you’ll be able to move around more soon. Even if it’s with some help. You’ll adapt.” She took a bite of fish. “You want any of this?”

He shook his head. “I already had some.”

“How about you put on Netflix or something so we can find a show to watch? As soon as I’m done eating, I’ll cuddle with you, too. I put on cozy clothes before I came here just for that reason.”

“What time are you getting up for school tomorrow?” Hiccup asked as he grabbed the remote.

“Six. I’ll try to leave without waking you, but I do have to give a warning that I have to set an alarm for myself.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I I can’t go back to sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Are you still getting your assignments e-mailed to you?”

“Yeah. Right now I’m working on the project for my history elective, so at least I have something keeping me busy.”

“And you’re still making drawings to go with it?” Astrid asked between bites.

Hiccup nodded. “Yeah, wanna see?” He reached over and grabbed his sketchbook from the bedside table. “Here’s Thor and his hammer. And here’s some dragons. And here’s Freja and her cats.”

“They’re awesome.”

“I still have to color them in. I also have to draw Loki and Odin. And I want to do a scene of Vikings sitting in the Great Hall listening to stories. Then I have to get all these drawings on a poster and write a few paragraphs of background research for each of them. What about you? Any big projects you have to finish?”

“I have my AP bio exam coming up soon. That’s kicking my ass right now.” Astrid finished up her food and laid her plate aside. “But it’s okay.”

“And how’s it going with your boyfriend?”

“You mean David? He’s not my official boyfriend yet,” laughed Astrid. “But he is taking me out again on Friday night.”

“Is he treating you good?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have agreed to a second date if he wasn’t.” She snuggled against Hiccup’s side. “By the way, what are we gonna watch?”

“Will you hate me if I put on Vikings? I know how much you love historical dramas.”

Astrid laughed. “Put on whatever you want. I’ll just snooze. But wake me up when this episode is over because I need a shower before bed.” She draped an arm across his middle.

Grinning, Hiccup pressed the play button before tossing the remote aside and hugging the blonde. “Your boyfriend won’t mind us cuddling, will he?” He winked.

Astrid playfully punched his bicep. “He’s not my boyfriend!” she insisted.

“That’s what you say,” teased Hiccup.

“And even if he was, he wouldn’t be any longer if he had a problem with our friendship.”

“Aww, you’d break up with your crush for me?”

“Of course. Friends come first.” She tugged the duvet over their bodies and kissed his tear-stained cheek. “I mean it. No matter what happens, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” returned Hiccup, squeezing her tighter and rubbing his nose against the side of her face. “And thanks for coming here tonight. This is exactly what I needed.”

“You’re allowed to kiss me, you know,” laughed Astrid as she felt him nuzzle her cheek. “You don’t have to do whatever this is.” She reached up and flicked the tip of his nose.

Smiling, Hiccup pressed kisses into Astrid’s hair and against her cheek. “There, is that enough for you?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged playfully. “Maybe one more.”

Hiccup gave her cheek one last kiss before burying his face against her shoulder.

A warm feeling surged through Astrid’s veins as she let out a contented sigh and closed her eyes. “Alright. I’m gonna nap now. Remember, wake me up after this episode is over.”

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t,” teased Hiccup.

“Unless you want me to walk around school smelling like a yak tomorrow, you’ll wake me.” She snuggled into his chest. “And Hiccup?”

“Yeah?”

“Everything will be okay.”

#hiccstrid #like heaven #like heaven au #fanfic #my writing #httyd #modern au #modern au hiccstrid #teenage hiccstrid

[nefariouscryptid]

tell us more about cowboy man. I demand to know more

Ah, good ol Casey Pierce.

He’s a cowboy, which isn’t that hard to believe since the world they now live in has more people becoming “outlaws” and having to flee society if they want to continue to protest against the government. He’s an outlaw himself, being 20 ish when Frikoski took over and he was an adamant protester. So ever since he’s taken on an outlaw lifestyle, constantly running from the law, doing odd jobs for money, carrying out a couple of robberies, and so on. He does know how to herd cows and horses so he deserves his cowboy title 🤣

How he met Brenda is something completely unplanned. People in the area she grew up in usually left their front doors open. Not because it was a rich neighborhood or a safe one, but no one bothered anybody cuz they held a “mind your business” mentality. So whatever they could see inside is something that remains inside. Well Casey was strolling through the neighborhood about to meet up with one of his friends to plan something, when he hears loud cracking and screaming. Turns his head around the corner and peeps into the persons house only to see Brenda getting the absolute shit beaten out of them by their dad. So overcome with disgust and rage, he shot their dad point blank in the skull.

He knows why he did it, and he thinks he would have done it for any other kid he came across, but he’s still shocked at the deep hatred he felt in that moment. But anyways he fled immediately cause he just killed someone and while that’s not really uncommon for him, in this scenario it was. He’s never killed anyone to defend another person that wasn’t in his little group that changed over the years, so it came as a slight shock to him. As he’s waiting to hop a train that’ll be passing by and trying to flee the cops, he feels a weak tug at his shirt. He looks down to see that same red headed kid, completely out of breath and bleeding on their back and face, with a grin, asking to come with him. So he let them.

He was adamant that wherever they landed after that train ride that Brenda wasn’t to follow him and they were to act like they had no idea who each other was. Brenda agreed. And of course that didn’t work cause she found him a week later and followed him wherever he went. She ADORED him. Not only was he a badass cowboy like the old tv shows she used to watch, but he killed her piece of shit dad to save her and let her run away with him. So of course she’s gonna follow him around like a little puppy.

Brenda began living in a motel for a little bit, scraping up money from any odd job she could find and eventually landed a job as a bus boy in an old restaurant. Casey normally never stayed in a town for very long but decided to in the one she was at just to keep a close eye on her, at least for a little bit. He also camped out in a motel, but decided to hop from one to the other to avoid people knowing him too well. Which worked out cause believe it or not a lot of people dressed like cowboys.

He really liked Brenda. Really liked their tough spirit, how easily they can adapt to places, their dark humor, kinda everything. After a year of knowing each other and camping out in the same motels together, he decided he’d protect that kid even if it meant dying for it or hurting them to. And it happened.

Brenda became a street fighter to gather up money. She’d fight people and nearly beat them to death just to garner up a few bucks. Shed always get something broken or fractured or cut, but she never lost, cause the rules were once you lost you can’t fight again. Casey found out and was pissed. But she wasn’t gonna listen to him, because this was a way to vent out her frustrations and get money. And she didn’t care if she died from it. As her body deteriorated he decided enough was enough and showed up one day. She didn’t want to fight him and was pissed he showed up. He insisted, yelling at her that she has to fight him or she’s a pussy, or that she’s shit and can’t take on her “old man”. Finally he convinced her to fight him but she really didn’t want to, she didn’t want to hurt him. Casey punched her square in the nose, breaking it, and won. Heartbroken, she fled town and didn’t see him for a few years.

They finally met up when he bailed her out of jail. He was under a temporary alias and found out she got busted for murder (only one case). He got all the money he scrapped up and used it for her bail. He was lucky that she was arrested in a town that didn’t give a shit cause there wasn’t much legal work asked of him. After that they slowly reconciled and traveled together. It was on and off, them mostly doing their own thing and occasionally meeting to catch up, but their bond grew and Brenda was glad that the one person who seemed to care about her still loved her. And Casey was glad Brenda never changed. That’s his little psychopath.

Casey wasn’t happy about what Brenda was doing trying to overthrow Frikoski. He completely agreed with it and was glad someone was finally trying to do something, but he was devastated it was her. He couldn’t change her mind though, and he decided to join her and help her out. He knows how to run from the law and he knows people that can aid them.

Casey is what got Brenda into the more nomad lifestyle, hopping trains, anarchy, and learning how to care for people. And Brenda is what gave Casey a sense of redemption and company.

#alex banters #asks #chad tag #tw child abuse #casey pierce #brenda valentino #my ocs

[ziracona]

Who of the DBD original killers do you think would be cool to see in horror movies? What characters do you think have the most potential for a film and what do you think it should/could be like?

Interesting question! Let’s see: Lisa, Sally, Philip, Max, Evan, Herman, Anna, Kenneth, Rin, Frank/Julie/Susie/Joey, Adiris, Danny (kind of), Kazan, Caleb, Talbot, and the Deshayes.

Hmmmm. Danny would work the least well as an original product, because he’s also a Scream expy thing. And then I also don’t think Talbot would work well outside a very DbD like in-universe heavy story, because he just has so much realm context backstory.

Out of the others, they all have potential. Basically none of the sympathetic ones would work as standalone horror characters, because they just didn’t like, /do/ murders before in-realm or live horror lives. The exceptions being Charlotte, Legion, Anna, Max, and Lisa. A lot of the others are definitely interesting enough to be really cool to watch their backstory lives, just, it wouldn’t be traditional horror. Charlotte and Lisa wouldn’t be the antagonists, but they /did/ both live complex horror lives before the realm, and there’s a lot of tragic potential there. Anna, Max, and Legion are all fairly sympathetic killers, but they /did/ live horror experiences before their time in-realm, so they have potential too. Out of them, I think Anna would be the strangest to adapt as traditional horror, since so much of her genre is tragedy and drama, and a narrative from her pov doesn’t play her as living a horror story, while Max and Legion’s do. It /could/ be crazy sad and work though, especially if you say, started the film from the pov of a kid who is kidnapped by her and the family who loses the child, and then only slowly as Anna goes from this horrific thing that kills people and steals children and eats human, to a weird kidnapper mother-wannabe, does she become less a monster and more complex. Maybe then you get flashbacks. It’d be dark, though, because even if you learned her past and understood what she’s been through and why she did what she did, and she and the child form any kind of bond, and she’s temporarily happy with a daughter and full of affection, you know none of her kids ever lived, so it would have to end with the child she’s had a few slow heartwarming moments with falling ill and her working hard to make her better, keep her warm, only to return from a hunt or panicked mission to collect herbs, relieved to have found what she needs, only to find a cold lifeless body waiting. Which she cradles for hours weeping, and then goes to bury finally behind the house, and only then does the audience realize this is one more joining fourteen graves that have come before it. And god, that’s just...so dismal. Chilling.

Uhhh, Max could be really good, but I would be so afraid people would adapt him badly because mentally ill and disabled antagonists in horror like, almost without fail are disgustingly treated. So, this one gives me fear. It could be a really nice character study, slow understanding movie though, where you go from identifying with him and him being the character in a horror situation, to the monster at the end of the film killing anything who comes near him in a frenzied need to be left alone. Also a very tragic and dark film.

The Legion would be a top pick, because it’s less dark and more like, unique? As far as horror goes. You get these kids, kind of a Gingersnaps, The Craft feel horror, with character-driven and a slow build into the actual horror of it all. Things only spiral slowly, and you like and sympathize with at least to some degree the stupid shit teens by the time things fall apart and their is blood on their hands. And there’s just--so much in the air. One murder. Unplanned. Punk troublemakers that just went off the edge into something darker on accident, and never really have time to choose what this means for them as people or if they’ll come back, because they are still in the immediate turmoil of processing that first kill when the Entity grabs them all. Could be really sick. Also there’s so much sweet-tragedy to work with here, I die for it. Ahhh, and baby Jeff Johansen! --Side note: while I think a lot of these would be cool horror films, honestly, I wouldn’t make horror flicks out of any of them. The reason isn’t that they would be bad films, but that I think the ideal way to adapt dbd killers cinematically would be in like, a DbD tie-in miniseries that’s a collection of stories that gives you backstories like archives does, but does it /way/ better. Like how Overwatch does character short films periodically for lore, except longer and probably live action. Or like the Coming To America segments in American Gods before episodes/chapters that introduce characters or backstory. I fkn love that concept in media when it’s done well. I think it would be super sick, and it would be a great way to tie things into dbd while letting different killers have unique flavors and storytelling styles to their shortfilms. (Honestly, DbD as a concept could make for some /fantastic/ tv show material. I’d /love/ to adapt it. And if there /was/ a show, it would be really cool to periodically have episodes that are just character backstories before you go back to the like, over-arching realtime plot).

Uhhhh, Lisa’s would be tragic, and it would /have/ to go full story. Poor kid just living her life, to kidnapped and struggling to survive. Trying to escape. Canibalized and tortured horribly. Eventually dying and vowing revenge. All the way to twisted and abused by the Entity, doing things she never ever would have chosen for herself, for just the...the fucking wholesale tragedy of her. Honestly, if DbD had a show, she’d be a /fantastic/ choice for first or second killer to get a backstory segment or episode, because like, people new to the media would understandably be like ‘yo these monsters are all 100% evil’ but then you get Lisa and you’re like ‘Oh fuck. That was one of the creepiest, and really she’s some poor young woman who needs rescuing as much as the survivors,’ and then there’s just so much left up in the air to question--who else is like her? And who is like Danny, or Freddy? Who is somewhere in between? Great for storytelling.

Uhhh, it’d take a long time to break down how I’d adapt all of these even with me doing shortform like this so I’ll try to be brief. Let me see. Charlotte would be great horror, back to the original question, not my miniseries fantasy, because her whole life is a horror film she’s the victim in, but her situation is complex and fascinating, and she’s a kid, and it’s so tragic, but not in a pointless way. Her life was full of love and pain, but it mattered, to her, to her mom who loved her and died for her, and to the baby brother whose corpse she couldn’t stop cradling and literally carrying not just with but in her. I think you’d have to finish that heartbroken for the girl, and hoping somehow she is able to find healing in whatever time she has left.

Sally and Philip both went through awful stuff, but Philip’s is not really a subject for just a horror film--although his time in Autohaven could be. Sally also had horrific experiences at her job, but again, like Max, less excited about this one because I don’t trust many people to do a good job with an asylum story. If done well, could be really tragic. Watching her fall apart trying to care about the people who just deserve help, and falling apart being abused by the criminals kept right in the next room over. The horrific ‘treatments’, the slow influence of the Entity whispering in her head, her finally fracturing and believing so completely she is saving people by purifying them and setting them free while she smothers a young boy who trusted her to death. Devastating. And Philip’s life overall and his time in autohaven lend themselves very well to horror, and he’d be a magnificent protagonist, I just don’t think if it was mostly the stuff in America, that that’s a full-length movie. Could be a really great like 45 minute short film. God, poor Philip. He deserved /none/ of this. Uhhh, Rin’s is horrific, with her as the victim, but like Philip, there’s not a /ton/ of buildup, so short film, not feature? Also God, poor Rin. She was just a kid. Doing her best. Please, Entity, fucking stop this.

This leaves Evan, Herman, Kenneth, Adiris, Kazan, and Caleb. Out of these, Caleb would make for a really good movie, but I don’t think it would be a horror film? It’d be a drama, or action-adventure. I mean don’t get me wrong--dark drama--his life was fucked--but like, it isn’t very horror-genre. Kenneth would be super gross but he fits classic horror well so if you want a killer clown, let’s goooo, but like? It’d just be two hours of him drugging, torturing and assaulting and then killing kids, teens, young adults, adults, and old people? And like, almost getting caught but not, and then being recruited by the Entity? And there’s just...not a story in there I see very worth telling? So I’d hard pass. Gross.

Uhhhh, Herman is boring if he’s rewrite. Torture bastard but like with mad scientist vibes is more interesting, and I could dig a CIA is evil film. Only, since he canonically kills /everybody/ in the building, you’d either have to retcon, or have a very disappointing film. Because Herman can’t be the pov character if he’s mad scientist Herman--you kinda need to see that from the outside at least as like, a deuteragonist. Not that horror is always disappointing if the cast all dies--sometimes that works--but like. Given the plotline I know Herman’s life takes, I can’t see your protag being slowly mind control tortured and then eventually experimented on and ripped apart until they die Herman’s last day being a very worthwhile storyline. If you retcon the complete losses though, and have maybe a spy who is the pov character, experimented on a lot, tries to escape and is punished, maybe tries to help a friend, tries to kill Herman in retribution for what he does to a colleague, and last day, somehow finds a way to survive whatever is done to them/not end up vegetative for the rest of their life or dead? Maybe puts a plan into action and messes up a machine and gets hit with a much lower than it looks like dosage of electricity and fakes vegetative, and survives, and witnesses the Entity come and take Herman even, and the Entity notices them and is like “Okay...more free food” so you have a last minute terrified beat to shit spy trying to break free of arm restraints and escape the place before the Entity gets them. Maybe rescues someone else too? Then baybeee we got a story with a great antag! Throw in a new protag to spice it up and u got something I’d like to see. If it’s just torture man lover Herman -the mad scientist aspect, I am not super interested but it’s not a /hard/ pass. I keep this pitch, it just becomes a less interesting film.

Adiris baby, I’m so sorry I didn’t do you with the sympathetic killers you know I love you your name was just late in my list because of how I typed it. Uhhh, her life doesn’t lend well to horror, although she’s a fantastic drama or epic. I’d love to see a major focus on her in-relam in a show, but as far as this question goes, I just don’t think that’s her genre.

This leaves Kazan and Evan. Guess I lied before about not going into any detail TuT but I’ll try. Uhhh. Kazan I am just not that interested in the story of? Man goes around killing farmers brutally for no reason. It’s less horror, more historical drama, unless you take the pov of a victim who seeks revenge or something. So, like Herman, he’d need a pov character fix to make it work. But the end result I find much less compelling. I’d probably pass. It’s just not that interesting to me.

Evan. Well, he’d be a good film I think. Classic horror. Rich, privileged, conceited bastard. Even worse father. Dead mom, drama as a young man. Becomes a horrific monster and loves it, cooks workers to death in his foundry furnace for no reason except sadism, lots of kidnapping workers and forcing them into slavery for him and then horrific murder. Kinda a torture-porn leaning here if you’re not careful, but it could be a really solid flick. I don’t think any of his victims survive though, so without a retcon, it’d be a pretty damn dark one. You could have any number of pov characters that just end up burned to death, or beaten to death, or buried alive and suffocated or starved, crushed to death. You could follow Evan and just be overwhelmed with horror and disgust for the person he becomes. But it works better than some of the other dark horror options, so I’d say it has potential. Especially as a lead-in to DbD, because then it works better as a storyline, because it isn’t totally over.

Hope you enjoyed this! Again though, a lot of these could make nice movies, but I think like 45 minute episode TV show for DbD would be ideal, and they’d all make /phenomenal/ backstory short films. Even the ones that really don’t lend to standalone feature.

#ask #Anonymous #dead by daylight #dbd #long post

[masterofmagnetism]

they put me in the ground (but i’m back from the dead)

They took my life but it isn't the end They put me in the ground but I'm back from the dead

Oh, I'm the World Ender baby and I'm coming for you

WHO: Erik Lehnsherr, Scott Summers @firstxman, Jean Grey-Summers @jeaniegreysummers, Bruce Banner @hulkout. Mention of @mistressxfmagnetism  WHERE: Stark Tower’s CRADLE lab. WHEN: February 21, 2021 WHAT: Jean and Scott get Bruce’s help resurrecting Erik. Erik comes back and is Not Happy. WARNINGS: Reference to past major character death, abuse, murder, assorted mental health issues, grief, ptsd. WORDS: 11k

JEAN: Erik crossed a line. No matter how she cried over his body, no matter how empty she felt when he was lowered into that grave (and she felt it, the shift in the earth, felt the ripple of emotion that came from the funeral even as she curled up in the rain under a tree in the park, even as she flicked through annotated poetry anthologies, a German dictionary propped open beside her), she knew they’d made the right decision. The only decision. Because Genosha was meant to be a place of safety, of respite, somewhere to escape from centuries of persecution and war. They’d already declared their strength with the siege. Anything after that was nothing more than malicious.

More than malicious. Genocidal.

Jean tried to tell herself it was the Phoenix. She told herself that if she could wake up in the morning with moon dust on her knees and blood under her nails and not remember any of it, that maybe the same thing was happening to Erik. Maybe he was overcome like she was on that lawn. But Erik didn’t ask for help. Erik didn’t hesitate, didn’t have a moment of outward remorse, didn’t let her into his head to see if there was an instance of it even internally.

Didn’t trust her, at the end of the day, despite his promises, despite his love. Despite everything they’d been to each other for all these years, Jean still wasn’t enough to break through. Her other father made that same mistake, out on that beach all those years ago. He made the same mistake every time he sent children to fight an old friend he wasn’t entirely sure would pull his punches

But that still didn’t give her the right to kill him.

After all, it was Jean who put the Phoenix into him. It was Jean who split the Raft, Jean who helped orchestrate the siege, Jean who encouraged the alliance between Erik and Scott. It was Jean who was fundamental in the unlocking of Lorna’s memories, Jean who indirectly led to the assault on Julio Richter.

Jean at the epicentre, as always, for once a driving force in her own narrative and hating every goddamn minute.

She killed Erik Lehnsherr, and it was the right thing to do, but him staying dead was a decision she couldn’t swallow. Asking the Phoenix for help was impossible. There were forces at play there she could never understand. Science was the only way forward, and there was something there when they exhumed the grave (Lorna would kill her, if this didn’t work. Jean would let her). Erik didn’t feel dead. He didn’t feel gone. He felt like he was … frozen. Waiting.

Stasis. A pause, rather than a full stop.

Jean chewed at the inside of her cheek, arms folded against the white of her lab coat. “We’ve run the preliminary tests more times than I can count,” she said. Scott would recommend, no doubt, that she slept before they tried this -- but she hadn’t slept properly in weeks. She couldn’t, until this was resolved. “We don’t know what frame of mind he might be in when he comes out, so we need to be prepared for anything.” Including killing him again, if necessary. This time, it would be her dealing the final blow. Marriage was all about equality.

SCOTT: When Scott was a child, his father was a retreating back. He always seemed to walk out of the door more often than he walked in it, always seemed happier leaving than staying. Scott remembered carrying a child’s anger in tiny fists, remembered a heart pounding against a ribcage in a way he wasn’t yet familiar with, remembered asking his mother on the days when she felt well enough to leave her bedroom why his father never seemed to want to stay. ’This is supposed to be his home,’ he’d said, ’and people are supposed to want to be home.’ And his mother went quiet, looked down at her hands, tried to think of something to say, some way to explain away anger too big to fit inside a body so small. ’People do things sometimes,’ she told him, ’Not because they want to. Because they have to. Because some things need doing. Your father does important work, Scotty. He does what he has to do.’

He learned to hate that phrase over the years. He does what he has to do. Even after his father died doing what he had to do, even after he took Scott’s mother with him, the phrase lingered. It was one Sinister used in that basement lab, one he hummed as he poked needles into veins and pulled memories from an already fractured mind. It was one Winters sneered when he kicked Scott in the ribs so hard he heard something crack. It was one Erik clung to with missiles pointed at a city full of people Scott loved.

And it was one Scott used when he took off his glasses and painted the whole world red.

Erik wasn’t very different from the rest of the fathers who’d let him down over the years. Scott knew that now. He wasn’t entirely separate from Christopher Summers, from Nathaniel Essex, from Jack Winters. They all clung to the same excuse, all hurt people and offered themselves an easy out in the process. Erik wasn’t very different from them at all. But neither was Scott.

If he voiced the concern to her, Jean would reassure him. Scott was sure of as much. She’d tell him that he’d saved lives doing what he did, remind him that Erik hadn’t offered much of a choice. She’d tell him everything he needed to hear, and she’d make him feel better in the process. That was exactly why Scott hadn’t told her his thoughts aloud. Jean would comfort him, and Scott wasn’t sure he deserved comfort. He wasn’t sure he deserved forgiveness. And redemption, he knew, wasn’t an option at all. You couldn’t be redeemed from a thing like this. Once that blood was on your hands, it stayed there. You could never get it out from beneath your nails.

But… Jean was offering him a chance to come as close to fixing things as was possible. Bringing Erik back sans Phoenix wouldn’t undo the damage that had been done. Scott knew from experience that raising the dead didn’t heal the wounds they’d left behind, but it was something. And god, he couldn’t keep doing nothing. Anything was better than that.

So he was here. In a lab he felt fundamentally uncomfortable in, with a man he hardly knew, planning on doing the impossible for someone he’d killed himself. His palms itched and his chest ached and his eyes were heavy with all the sleep he’d missed since Erik’s death, but he was here. And he hoped that could count for something.

“Can you restrain him, if necessary?” He looked to Jean, nervous energy flittering in his chest. “He may need time to… calm down.” There was every chance he’d be angry, when he came back. Scott certainly had been, and there was a letter in the Bugle to prove it. And Erik…

Erik had always done anger better than anyone.

BRUCE: Assumptions disappointed and killed more people than anything else in the world. When Bruce was young, he thought it was because disappointed weighed you down like boulders tied to your ankles in quicksand, but as the scientist had aged, he found that it wasn’t because the feeling was so heavy - it was because assumptions were akin to hope. Hope spread like a disease: clogged your arteries, confused the mind, and chased happiness down like catfish in a barrel.

Hope, on its own, could save lives. Could bring a dead man back to life under the skilled hands of a mutant and a man who belonged nowhere - could salvage what little tenderness resided in a heart made of stone. And in the very next second, it could slit the wrists of the person wielding it. It starts as a small trickle of blood that eventually bleeds you dry without you knowing, Bruce thought, large hands pulling open a gaudy blue menu, full of numbers and operations that, with hope, man could understand.

Bruce didn’t know the X-Men very well. Knew Logan from the few times they were forced to cross paths in laboratories just like this one, but not much else. Knew what he’d read in the papers and knew how Erik Lehnsherr should probably stay dead.

In his apparent all-mighty knowing (that he’d likely adapted from Tony), he also knew what assumptions did to good people who were just in the wrong place, at the wrong time, doing the wrong things for the right reasons.

While he hadn’t seen Scott and Jean very often, Bruce couldn’t imagine they looked this exhausted all of the time. While hero-ing and saving and destroying often took a toll on your mental and physical health, the look that they carried said ‘I’m pleading for hope, and this is the last place I have left to look.’ Bruce thought, for just a moment as he booted up the core CRADLE systems, that he’d probably worn that look too many times in his life too. Half-naked in the streets of Harlem, showing up in the rain on Tony Stark’s doorstep, visiting his mother’s grave with a clenched fist and flowers she would never get to see, or on the faces of the other monks at the Phuktal monastery in Zanskar when they finally learned of his story, who Bruce Banner really was.

Yet, he continued to hope that somehow things would change. That someone would bandage his wrists and tell him he could stop bleeding for the sins of others - do the right things because they felt right, sleep at night because it was OK if he stopped to rest, eat because it was alright to have something in his stomach other than regret.

People always assumed Bruce Banner was always battling for control, hoped that he wouldn’t let go of himself. Bruce always wondered if tomorrow would finally be the day he wouldn’t wake up again.

Staring down at Erik’s lifeless, bio-illuminated face inside of the CRADLE vault, Bruce wanted Erik to wake up. Whether it was for the right reasons or not, he wanted Erik to wake up. Licking his lips, Bruce gave Scott a somewhat sad smile, brows furrowed, “I think if things get out of control, I’ve got it covered.” We have it covered, his ridiculously sardonic brain reminded him unhelpfully. Even his mind and body were not his own - out of his control.

The stillness within the lab seemed almost clinical, if it weren’t for the fact that they were about to scientifically reconstitute living cells in an organically preserved carcass of someone they all considered a friend. “To be fair to Erik, I’d probably be pretty -“ Happy, “- mad if someone I trusted off’d me too.” The joke fell flat between them, and the chemical hiss of the CRADLE as it began to pre-register every input that he had settled into the machine filled in the silence for him. “I would say ‘ready when you are’ but I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready, so. It’s more ‘ready when you go because I have to be ready,’ haha.”

JEAN: Everything about this was a bad idea. Jean had fought between her head and her heart for as long as she could remember, and right now her stomach was squirming and her mind was screaming at her to stop, to leave well enough alone, to leave because Banner was a master scientist, but he needed their energy levels to make this work. She wrung her hands together as she looked down at the CRADLE and thought about that night, the couple of minutes that changed their lives completely. Erik stood there, argued with them that genocide could be an option. He turned into the very monster he’d been fighting since he was a child, and he saw nothing wrong with it.

Some people may say that was just Magneto. Jean knew better -- she had to know better. If she loved that man as much as she had, if she trusted him, then that meant there was something good in him, something worth protecting. That meant it was the Phoenix that caused him to stand there, thumb hovering over the metaphorical trigger. It was the Phoenix that almost had him killing her friends, her former students, even mutants who still resided on the other side of the bay.

He wasn’t thinking straight. He wasn’t thinking like himself. And when he came back, just as when she came back from Zatanna taking her out on the lawn of her childhood home, he would understand that. He would thank them, for doing what was necessary -- because he was the one who taught her how to do that.

Sentimentality had no place in war, Jean knew that, but she did what she did for him. She wouldn’t have his legacy tarnished by one final decision made in the heat of a cosmic flame.

“I can hold him,” she said. She was confident in that much. There was a reason why she wasn’t taking the risk of using the Phoenix, even if it was a tried and true method. She would stop it from fracturing into him again -- or anyone again -- if she could help it at all. “No,” Jean countered, turning around to Bruce. Softening her voice, she repeated, “No. You’re here as a scientist -- to help. If he’s going to lash out at anyone, it’ll be us.” Me, she thought to herself. If anyone touched a hair on Scott’s head, she’d never forgive herself … and chances were it would go a lot more south than she intended when she was trying to repair bridges.

She touched against the top of the CRADLE, ran her eyes quickly over the calculations flying across the screen. “There’s a reason I asked you, you know,” she said to Bruce. “Because I knew you’d understand it was more than just offing someone who was inconvenient. It was…” Mercy? The word itself seemed like an insult. “I thought of all people,” she continued, “you’d understand why we needed a Plan B.”

It wasn’t a personal secret. It had been broadcast over the TV, radio, newspapers. The self loathing that followed after Banner and the Hulk was comparable to that of Scott and Jean themselves. They’d never had pride in what they were unless they were trained to -- conditioned to. And from what Jean read in Stark’s mind, she knew Banner had contingency plans. The Hulkbuster armor, a series of arrows, certain poisons that would at least slow him down if not kill him if push came to shove.

“Erik didn’t know what she was doing,” Jean said, and her voice was far firmer on account of looking at Scott when she said it than she thought herself capable. “He doesn’t deserve to die for someone else’s mistakes.” A beat passed, a breath taken, and Jean nodded. “Start the process.”

SCOTT: Even without the Phoenix, paranoia ate at Scott’s gut like a disease. He’d never been a trusting man, not after a childhood wracked by grief and betrayal, and after everything that had happened since… Without a little doubt clinging to his fractured mind, he wouldn’t have made it as long as he had. He wouldn’t be alive now if not for his healthy dose of uncertainty.

(But was he alive at all? Did this count as living? He was clay and bone, an inanimate thing Jean had breathed life into, a body the Phoenix had claimed. Was living the proper word for what he was doing, or was it one assigned to him because no one knew any better term? How many times could a dead thing die? Maybe they were about to find out.)

This paranoia made him tense at Banner’s presence, made him uncertain and uneasy, made him shift and tighten at the reminder that the room was not occupied by his family alone. It was Scott, it was Jean, it was the empty shell of the man they had loved and killed, and it was Banner. It was them, and it was an Avenger. And they needed him, Scott knew. They needed him to ensure that this wasn’t a repeat of Jean standing over Scott’s grave on Valentine’s Day, needed an outside influence to ensure they wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes and call it a solution, but Scott was uneasy all the same. .

Banner swore he could handle it if Erik got out of control… but Scott looked to Jean anyways, didn’t relax until she confirmed that she would be able to hold him if she had to. The ease of tension didn’t last long before Banner spoke again and Scott tightened all over, wound tighter than a spring ready to take off. “If you’d rather have let him kill eight million people…” His voice was tight and sharp and unnecessary. It had been a joke, Scott knew, a poorly timed one, perhaps a tasteless one, but still a joke. But Scott Summers wasn’t known for his sense of humor.

(Scott Summers wasn’t known for anything decent at all. He hadn’t been for a long time now, and he was aware that it was a perception that predated the Phoenix’s reign of his body. He’d never been a good person. The things the Phoenix talked him in to doing only cemented a fact everyone else had always already known.)

Glancing to Jean, Scott let his lungs deflate, let the breath that was caught there escape in a quiet sigh. Erik didn’t know what he was doing. She sounded so sure of it, so positive, but… Scott had known what he was doing, with the bird ravaging his mind. He had known every step he took, been aware of every word he said. And maybe he wouldn’t have said them without the firebird insisting they needed to be said, but he would have thought them all the same. Maybe he wouldn’t have written a letter to the Bugle or killed police officers who stood in his way or participated in an insurrection against the government of a country he’d only ever wanted to belong to, but he wasn’t sure he would have thought those things were wrong, either.

It wasn’t entirely fair to say that Erik hadn’t been himself, but Scott wouldn’t argue it, either. He wouldn’t tell Jean that he wasn’t sure the bird absolved Erik of his sins, wouldn’t admit that he didn’t believe it absolved him of his, because doing so would mean saying that Jean wasn’t free of hers, either. And Scott loved her far too much to breathe that sentence to life, even if it might have been true.

“He deserves a second chance,” he said, because he believed that, if nothing else. Erik deserved a second chance because everyone did, because Scott had gotten more than his fair share and this was what he’d done with them, because Erik had suffered so much and worked so hard and he’d deserved a better end than the one Scott gave him. “So let’s give him one.”

BRUCE: It took a lot, for someone like Bruce to keep their comments to themselves. Even with the thought of his father barreling him down with a glass whiskey bottle, Bruce still piped up when it was not his place. He’d watched plenty of curses take the lives of people who didn’t necessarily deserve it - but Bruce knew from personal experience, just like the other people in that room, that Erik knew what he was doing. Likely deserved to pay some sort of penance for his actions. But Bruce also thought, calibrating the machine, that maybe knowing what kind of monster lurked beneath the skin was enough of a punishment in itself.

“I won’t say I understand,” The scientist started, initiating launch sequence, a loud hiss coming from the chamber beside them, hearing an echo of Tony’s voice in his head. Yeah, buddy. I’ll strike you down in cold blood if need be. Tony waving him off a moment later to talk about some sport neither of them gave a damn about. How hard had it been for Jean and Scott to make the decision to put Erik down? “But I get it. How much you want it, I mean.” How much you want the monster to be imaginary, he thought.

The hissing grew louder, echoing off of the metal room within the lab, numbers flying across Bruce’s panel and a loading bar appearing for the sequence duration. The ominous glowing green had Bruce shutting his eyes tightly for a moment, remembering the day the bomb went off. The gamma seeping into every fibre of his being - the excruciating pain he felt the first time Hulk entered his mind. Bruce wondered if maybe a piece of Erik would be missing too, when it was all over. If the Phoenix would gauge a hole in him that nothing could ever fill again.

“Go, Jean.”

ERIK: He’d been fifteen when Shaw had conducted the experiment that changed his life. Strapped to a table in the middle of the man’s lab in Auschwitz, leather strap between his teeth, Erik had been terrified by the manic look in the doctor’s eyes as he readied a syringe. The other doctor had been there, too, the one everyone in the camp knew only as Nosferatu, the one who never had his subjects come back to their bunks. Erik was scared of Shaw, but that one had his adrenaline pounding extra hard, noxious fear making his mind spin as he struggled to watch the two men out of the corner of his eyes.

He hadn’t realized he’d been shaking the metal table beneath him until Shaw turned to him and clicked his tongue, and Erik made a concerted effort to rein his powers back in—from the table, from the needle, from everything, because the last time he’d lost control, Shaw had pinned him down and broken his arm in two places.

Shaw finished his prep work and rolled over to the side of the table, the other man at his shoulder, watching with a detached gaze that made Erik feel like a butterfly pinned to a board. Shaw had brushed his hand through Erik’s hair as if he were trying to calm a spooked horse, shushing him as he readied the needle.

“This is my gift to you, Max,” he’d smiled. ”So you can be like me. Like us.” And then he’d slid the needle into his arm and pressed the plunger, and everything felt like it was on fire. He’d discovered later what the man meant, what ‘gift’ he’d bestowed on him in those labs.

Life. Too much of it. He’d been 93 years old, facing off against his children in the silo, and he’d scarcely looked into his forties. His cells aged slowly the way Shaw’s had, and he’d hated it, hated that the man couldn’t simply be relegated to memory.

When Scott had flipped the visor, Erik had died. But his cells hadn’t quite done the same—had sat in stasis through his burial, through his exhumation, through his settling into the Cradle and the tests that led up to the flood of energy that finally sparked his neurons back to life.

His heart beat once. Twice. His chest heaved as he dragged air into his lungs for the first time since the silo.

They tell you that your life flashes before your eyes when you die. They don’t tell you that it does the same thing when you come back.

Over the years, Erik had carefully constructed mental walls to keep unwanted memories at bay. Charles had once remarked that his mind was one of the most organized he’d ever been in, neatly linear and uncluttered by anything except The Goal and The Plan.

You wouldn’t know it, now.

The first thing he was aware of was that his mind felt empty, somehow, like he was missing a limb. He’d had a cosmic force that devoured worlds tucked in alongside his own consciousness for so long that its absence was jarring. Almost as jarring as the realization that all those walls were so much rubble.

Erik opened his eyes, saw a lab, and those memories of Shaw that should’ve been locked away assaulted him all at once. Terror, not helped by the realization that he was contained.

Get out get out get out get out.

The top of the Cradle slammed open, and Erik sat up, powers already stretching around the room, wrapping around whatever metal was in reach. Natural, unbidden, just reaching, leaving pens and tools hovering in the air above where they’d been resting. Defensive instincts long-honed seizing on anything that could be a weapon before he could even identify the threat.

And then he saw them.

“I love you, but I can’t love this.” Jean’s face, stone cold.

“You’ll be grateful I stopped you, later.” Scott’s fingers, perfectly steady on his glasses.

Betrayal from two of the people he loved and trusted most. ( But he should have expected that, shouldn’t he? Shaw’s voice, warning him that “sentiment will be the death of you if you let it, my boy.” Magda running away, Charles turning on him, sending an army of children after him—He should have known, always, and yet. )

Fury reared its head, as it always did, and Erik felt the beginning brushes of Jean’s mind against his and realized that those walls were gone, too, and no. No, no, no, no no.

<<Get OUT.>>

The sentiment was punctuated by the hovering metal around the room all flying toward the couple at once as Erik hauled himself out of the Cradle.

Jean didn’t even need to interfere, because the second his feet his the floor, a wall of exhaustion slammed into him. The Phoenix had been able to keep him going through almost no sleep for months, but without its energy in his mind, all that time putting off his body’s needs crashed into him at once.

His legs gave out from under him, and the airborne metal hit the floor at the same time he did.

Someone else was at his side, moving to help, and Erik snarled before he even realized who it was. “Don’t touch me.” Banner—it was Banner, and he was safe-ish, wasn’t he? Erik didn’t know if anyone was, couldn’t relax—stopped, hand halfway to his shoulder, and Erik curled his fists and shook his head as he tried to get the flood of memories clamoring for attention to settle.

“Make them leave. Get them out.” He was in no condition to be dealing with them—mind too loud, powers too weak. Maybe once, that wouldn’t have been a problem.

But he didn’t trust either of them. Not. One. Bit.

JEAN: Bruce wasn’t going to forgive them. He could say he understood a part of it, while distancing himself from the darkest aspects of what they had done -- the darkest aspects of the forces they were playing with now. The Phoenix remained silent in the back of her mind, though it was never true silence. That would imply some degree of calm, and Jean hadn’t known what that felt like since … God, since she was ten years old, maybe before. The Phoenix’s absence from this occasion said all it needed to about her stance. She thought Jean should’ve asked her. She thought they could’ve worked together, that Jean would turn to her and beg, that she’d regret what she’d done.

Regret that Erik was dead, perhaps. Regret over the actions she had taken to prevent something worse … not exactly. Charles drummed into her since she was fourteen years old that to be truly useful in this world, you needed to protect the downtrodden. To be truly good, you had to defend those who couldn’t defend themselves, defend those who would never forgive you for making yourself bleed on their behalf. The city of New York had done nothing for Jean Grey but rip her apart and refuse to put her back together again. The people hated her, splashed her husband’s face in graffiti, treated her father like a lunatic in the press.

But that didn’t mean she’d let them die. It was the same principle she extended here, standing over the CRADLE, watching the mechanisms begin to shift. (Did Stark know they were here, she wondered? He trusted Banner, she’d picked up on that much -- but from what she understood of Iron Man, he was a pragmatist. A logistician, at his core. He would say this was a terrible idea. Jean understood where that impression could come from.)

Everyone deserved forgiveness. The Phoenix had hurt, had ripped them apart, made them commit so many atrocities -- but this was the first step in giving a second chance, in piecing together the things Jean had broken.

But, again, that didn’t mean Jean was blindly trusting. Her intelligence wasn’t the first thing people thought of, when they thought of her (and she knew, of course, courtesy of hearing every goddamn ‘compliment’ that went through every person’s head), but it was something that only grew with experience. The CRADLE burst open, and Jean already had protective shields formed around Scott, around Bruce, and a split second later, around herself.

The metal dropped, though. The invisible shields remained in place, even if she knew Erik would assume their presence. The CRADLE hissed, smoke still rising from the chamber. The lights flickered, the walls shook, electricity in the air made her hair go static—

And Erik was standing in front of her. Erik was standing in front of her, eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched, hands curled into fists by his side. Chest moving, breaths heaving. He was angry, always angry, angrier than she’d ever seen him -- but he was alive.

(Was that all that mattered? Rictor said, once, she over-simplified it. Breathing alone wasn’t enough to keep a person alive, but it was the first step. It was the foundations. Jean always had faith that could lead to something else.)

There was a beat of relief, a wash that went through her chest and relieved the tension that had curled into it (she could tell Lorna she brought her dad back), and then a moment where she realised it wasn’t dad she thought when she looked at this man. It was something else, something foreign, like looking at a stranger.

She’d mourned him, Jean reminded herself. She’d sat, curled in his seat, looking around at the books in his office. She’d taken a blanket from his home during the funeral, tried to find his smell under whiskey and cigar smoke. She’d mourned him, she’d loved him, and the first words that left his mouth…

Well, she had expected it. She had expected it, but there was a part of Jean that hoped, against all odds, just as there had always been.

“Last time we left,” she replied, coolly, keeping her hands stiff by her sides and her feet firmly on the ground, “you almost caused the Third World War. I’d like to make sure that’s not going to happen again.” If that meant Bruce and Scott remained wrapped in a telekinetic shield, if it meant she took the brunt of the flames, so be it.

Jean was used to the fire.

SCOTT: The process, once it happened, wasn’t a slow one. It was strange, watching it play out. Scott had never been present for this part before. He’d watched people he loved die so many times that the images were etched on the back of his eyelids, playing out like a movie projected on a sheet. He could rewind, pause, fast forward, take it from the top. Those moments were a part of him. And he’d had people come back to him, too, of course. Jean walking up to the Institute doors with her hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles were white, like a prayer and an answer all at once. Illyana showing up again years after she’d died, breathing and wild-eyed. He watched people die and saw them lowered into their graves, watched them walk back through the door after the dirt had settled, but this? The only resurrection Scott had ever been present for was his own, and there had been nothing miraculous about that. Nothing good, nothing incredible.

This was different. This wasn’t the Phoenix, wasn’t a cosmic force that described a curse as a blessing. This was some hodgepodge mix of science and telepathy that Scott doubted he’d ever entirely understand. Part of him hadn’t expected it to work at all, had thought the most they’d do was desecrate the corpse of a man who’d more than earned his right to rest, but he’d gone along anyway because Jean had asked him to and Scott had been bad at saying no to her since she took his hand on that park bench decades ago and asked him to stay. The Phoenix was like playing with fire, but this? This was more akin to trying to shape water into something tangible. Scott’s expectations hadn’t been high.

But they should have been. He should have understood that Jean Grey (Jean Summers) never failed at something she’d put her mind and heart into, should have remembered that she was the same girl who’d convinced a sullen, quiet boy that he was a thing worth loving, should have understood that she would move heaven and earth for the people she loved and that Erik, for all his faults, was one of them.

The Cradle slammed open. The metal in the room began to hum, hovering free of gravity. A familiar shield engulfed him, invisible and protective. And Erik Lehnsherr was revived the same way he had died --- suddenly, violently, and with a love so great that there was room for little else besides it.

There was a moment where the world stood still. Everything hung motionless. Scott held his breath, swore that his heart stopped beating for an instant, swore that the blood stopped pumping through his veins as the world waited to right itself again. And then it did, and everything came crashing back down in an instant. The anger slammed into the room like a train obliterating everything left on the tracks, like a car crash of rage and betrayal and grief and defeat. Erik was alive, and he was angry. Scott couldn’t blame him for that, couldn’t fault it. If not for Jean, he would have accepted whatever punishment felt necessary, would have let himself be skewered for his sins.

(“You don’t have to be a martyr,” Warren told him once. ”You don’t have to shoulder every mistake. You’re allowed to forgive yourself, Scott. You’re allowed to move on.” And he might have tried that if anyone had ever told him how. He might have done it if it hadn’t seemed so impossible, so unreal. How could you get out from under something that stretched the length of the whole sky above you? How could you get away from something that was a part of you? It only sounded easy if you’d never felt it before.)

But Jean was there, was shielding him, was protecting him no matter how little he deserved it. The metal dropped to the ground, and the shields stayed up. The anger remained. And with it, the guilt. The grief. The betrayal.

Scott stayed quiet, eyes darting away from Erik and back to Jean. She was hurt. He could feel it through the bond, see it in her posture. She wasn’t surprised, but she was hurt, and he ached with her. He’d wanted a happier resolution to this, a better end, but it had been a fool’s dream. Jean forgave Zatanna when she took the Phoenix down, just as Scott forgave Logan when he ended his suffering on that grassy knoll in Central Park. There were people, he knew that were easy to forgive. There were people good enough, decent enough, that forgiving them came as simply as breathing, as blinking, as turning your head. There were people who were easy to forgive because they were easy to love, because you wanted them in your life no matter the cost.

Scott had never been one of them.

BRUCE: Bruce wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. If there was one well-known thing about Erik Lehnsherr, at least to the public, it was that he was very focused. For good, for bad, he had the insight of an owl and the determination of a bull. Apparently, even in death, in exhaustion, he was equally so. He wondered if he would ever get to feel death. If it would always elude him like many other things in life; happiness, a home, a family, somewhere he felt safe.

He thought, for a moment, maybe he had been a little jealous of Erik. That Jean didn’t have the right to take that away from him, no matter how much he would be missed.

Jean’s protective barrier didn’t seem to move him. Emotionally of course, because her raw power was enough to match Erik’s, and he could take the static in the air like the Kansas plains right before a tornado came through. How many people would he stand beside who were more convicted than him? What kind of hurts did they hold, and why did they hurt enough to bring Erik back? ( Why did he bring Erik back? )

“Hey, buddy - it’s — hey. Let’s not do anything drastic,” Like accidentally murder someone else, haha — “I know you’re angry. Totally get it,” Bruce slowly approached with scuffed dress shoes, each click of their rubber soles sounding like a gunshot in the suddenly too-quiet room. He couldn’t imagine having that kind of power - to make everyone notice when he was there and also when he wasn’t. “But you’re going to be really dehydrated in a hot minute if you don’t let me help you up, okay?”

Bruce spared a look for his two companions, and maybe Jean was right. Maybe he was someone who could understand what they’d been through. That if someone had to save Bruce from himself, he would at least want it to be someone he cared about. Clint, Tony, Steve. He would never ask Nat to do it - she’d been made enough times to be a stone-hearted killer, Bruce wouldn’t add to that.

Although he didn’t really know either of them well enough, he could tell when somebody cared enough to still be there after you’d disappointed them. Jean thought Erik would be disappointed, stayed anyway. Would anyone care enough to stick around for him too?

Gently, as if approaching a spooked animal, Bruce placed calloused fingers on an expensive funeral suit, surprised when he electricity in the room didn’t shock him on contact. The ever-present scientist in him placed that interesting tidbit of knowledge in a file for future examination. Maybe because Hulk’s skin was like reinforced rubber? Was he a grounding material? Could that be something helpful in the future, like making schools safer during storms, or for severe weather shelters for the homeless—

“If you want them to leave, they’ll leave,” Bruce promised, not looking back at the couple again. He supposed the situation really wasn’t about them.

ERIK: Everything was too much. His mind felt like it had been ransacked, left in tatters as his previous cohabitant had rifled through memories and motivations alike to trim down only to what was useful. Tweaking perceptions, ramping up the paranoia.

Not paranoid enough, some part of him noted wryly.

Bruce's fingers wrapped gently around his shoulder, tone and stance reminiscent of the way they used to handle shell-shocked soldiers. He stiffened under the touch, knuckles going white against the floor, but he didn't shake him off. Reached up and dragged himself to his feet again, even if he swayed, even if the room spun a bit around him and wavered black at the edges. He needed food, he needed water, he needed sleep.

More importantly, he needed to get out of the presence of the two people who had murdered him before he lost control entirely. Scott was standing there in silence, expression torn between surprise and guilt, and there was none of Erik that had the capacity to feel anything but disgust for the man right now. It didn't take a genius to put together who had led the charge in the silo, who'd been calling the shots. Scott was a good little soldier. A good little husband. "Bird got your tongue?" Scott didn't have the Phoenix anymore, that much was clear--guilt wouldn't be anywhere in his face if it was. But the point stood regardless, and Erik didn't care that Jean always got tetchy when he so much as breathed a negative word in Scott's direction.

(Somewhat hysterically, he wondered if he'd make her mad enough to kill him again. Maybe he should--the time between his death and now was rapidly flitting away from his mind, but he remembered warmth, remembered family, and part of him wanted to claw it back.)

Jean's words had him choking on a laugh, and Erik nearly snarled at her across the Cradle, fingers pressing dents into the metal. "If that's what you're worried about, why am I back?" he hissed. And oh, there were other questions that came crashing on him, then.

"FRIDAY," he said, because he wasn't sure he could trust anyone in this room except the machine he could feel thrumming in the walls around them. "What's today's date?"

"February 21, 2021, Mr. Lehnsherr."

February. Two months. Two months.

Scott Summers had been resurrected a week to the day from his death. Jean had been so grief-stricken, so heartbroken, that she had moved heaven and earth and death itself to bring him back after just a week without him.

Two months. He hated that there was a part of him that was wounded by that fact almost more than the murder itself. There had always been two reasons that he was kept around, two reasons that people kept him close: love or use. She hadn't brought him back because she missed him or because Lorna did, which meant she must need him to do something—

Lorna.

The world constricted once again, because Lorna wasn't here. Her father was being resurrected, and she wasn't here. Erik knew his powers could scarcely reach across the room let alone the bay, but g-d if he didn't try anyway, breath caught in his throat. He felt the room tip at the exertion before he stopped, kept upright only by the tight grip on the Cradle and Bruce's hand at his back.

"Where is Lorna? Where is my daughter?!"

If she was dead, and they'd brought him back to a world without her, he would drag them all back to the grave with him.

JEAN: She’d never been the kind of woman who lived on an island. Her mind was tattered, splintered into pieces that could cut intruders like knives, ever since the Phoenix rushed into her body so many years ago and refused to leave. Jean never made sense, she knew, to the people around her. She burned too bright or not at all. She went hot or far too cold. She was capable of almost pathological compartmentalisation, or she saw everything at once so the picture was too damn big for anyone else to understand. She loved and loathed in equal measure, and she was, above all else, not the kind of woman who was easy to digest. Easy to adore, perhaps, but so many people desired to get close to the fire before they truly knew what it meant to be burned. There were so few who saw the worst of her and stayed.

Scott was one of them. If anyone touched a hair on his head -- even someone she considered family, someone who was more blood than anyone else on the planet -- she would rip them into a thousand pieces and scatter them to the wind without hesitation, without guilt, without grief. But there was another person who looked at her in all her chaos, in her fear, in her self hatred and mania, and who said, this girl is worth trusting. There was another person who approached her in the wreckage of other people’s lives and said it wasn’t her fault, that she held a great gift inside of her, and the only way to control it was to refuse to control it, to embrace it instead.

Erik had been that person. Erik knelt down in front of a child and he reached to her even when the rest of the world was pulling back. He gave her a safe place to rest, gave her logic, pragmatism, gave her a path that she followed long after he was gone. And then he was on the other side of a battlefield, throwing buses at her friends and threatening everything the X-Men were fighting for, and she was told to defeat him at any cost.

Perhaps this was inevitable. Perhaps there could only ever be Jean alive or Erik. Maybe having them both here at once, occupying the same space, defied some kind of cosic deity -- defied the Phoenix. Because as Jean looked at Erik, her chest tightening and her throat burning, the Phoenix was conspicuously silent. Conspicuously void of opinion, for one of the first times in living history.

Then Bruce opened his mouth, and the bird came back to life. We could kill him next, she offered.

“We’re not killing anyone.” It took a breath, just a second, for Jean to realise she said those words out loud, that she’d turned her head to the side as if a friend was standing right there -- as if Maddie was beside her (why was she thinking of Maddie, now, as if she was a shadow? As if she was someone lingering, constantly, even when she wasn’t here physically? Was it because they’d done it together, the three of them, and so it made sense to picture her now?) Jean collected herself, levelled a look at Erik as her eyes burned, too.

She wouldn’t cry. She refused to. But God, it would be so easy to let those tears spill, to fall to her knees, to run towards him like she was an eleven year old girl who’d lost everything that mattered to her in the world and he had all the answers.

But he was insulting her husband. He’d threatened the safety, the peace, of their entire people. He messed with Kara’s head, threatened Rictor, almost started another World War. She couldn’t forget that.

“I didn’t want you dead, Erik,” she said, as simply as she could. There were a hundred other things she could say. She could tell him how she knew the Phoenix felt in him, how it twisted everything, how it made things so simple and so complicated all at the same time. She could vindicate him, could say this wasn’t his fault -- but the way he was looking at her now…

(Maybe there was always meant to be one, in the end.)

She knew where his mind went, when he asked for the date. “I didn’t want to use her,” she said, because he deserved something of an explanation. “I couldn’t.”

You could have. Haven’t I helped you before? Haven’t I made things so beautiful—

“We needed you back,” Jean said, “not someone else. I found another way. It took some time, but …” It worked, clearly. It worked so far as there was breath in his lungs now and color in his cheeks. If that was the definition of life, they’d succeeded -- but Jean knew it was far more complicated than that. “Lorna’s alive,” she continued. “She’s safe, and she knows we’re here. I wanted to make sure we were … that she stayed that way.”

The Erik she knew would’ve wanted her paranoid, if it came to Lorna. He would’ve wanted her to take every precaution when dealing with something as unpredictable as life and death. Yet, as she stood there looking at someone who felt as much like a stranger as he had on that very first day they faced off in the middle of New York City, she wasn’t entirely sure he would see it like that now.

SCOTT: Banner’s voice was like radio static, something there-and-not-there in a way Scott had grown accustomed to as a teenager when the world became like a television with no static and he began to understand why his mother locked herself in her room for days at a time, why she spent so many afternoons in bed. It shut out the world sometimes, made him his thoughts and nothing else. Banner was there. Erik was there. Jean was there. And Scott wasn’t. Scott was in a silo, in a hospital waiting room, in a grave. Banner was promising he’d leave as if he knew how, Jean was throwing a shield around him as if there was something left to protect, Erik was---

---Erik was speaking to him. The realization dawned slowly, like a wave lapping your feet on a beach, covering them with sand slowly and quickly all at once in a way you didn’t realize until the pressure was there cementing you to the ground. It took Scott’s mind a moment to catch up with his ears, a moment for the words to register. It always did, when he got like this. When the world was radio static and his mind hopped from one place to the next like Kurt’s teleportation, like a superpower that took him to every place he’d never wanted to be.

Bird got your tongue? The words came to him, slow and deliberate, and for a moment he felt like he was twelve years old, like he was standing in Essex’s lab with his arms stiff at his side and his eyes locked to his feet, like fingers would come in at any moment to grip his chin and force it upwards, force eye contact. (Essex was the last person he’d looked in the eyes before the world went red and a pair of lenses separated him from everything he saw. He thought of that sometimes, what it meant. What it said.) For a moment, there was an echo of another man’s voice, decades ago but just as cold, just as disgusted. Come on, Scott. You’re so much prettier when you smile.

He flinched. He didn’t mean to, but he did. And it wasn’t fair, he knew. Scott was not a victim here. (And maybe he hadn’t been a victim back then, either. Maybe Essex had never done anything he didn’t have coming. Maybe if he were better, smarter, easier to love, things could have been different. Maybe - ) Scott had killed Erik, had opened his eyes and turned the whole world red, and maybe Erik was angry now but he had a right to be. Scott Summers was not Zatanna Zatara. He was not Logan. He was not a person who had done a favor for a friend, not someone who was only doing what his would-be victim asked him to do. What he did was his choice, his decision. No one forced him. No one made him. And maybe he’d only damned himself to save Erik from the same fate, but that didn’t make him any less damned. Did it?

Scott stayed silent, and the world kept moving around him. Time went slower, he’d found, without the Phoenix coloring it. The loss of immortality made every moment a mountain, every second a marathon. He watched realization dawn in Erik’s eyes in slow motion, watched anger turn to grief turn to fear. And Jean spoke, but it wasn’t---

It wasn’t to Erik. It wasn’t to Banner, it wasn’t to Scott. It was to someone else. Scott could almost feel her in the room, like a phantom limb. The Phoenix. Had Jean ever spoken to her aloud before? (He had, towards the end. He remembered it. Pacing in his room, muttering to himself. It was one of the things that made him realize the line had been crossed, one of the things that made him realize he was going, going, gone. His heart dropped into his stomach and his chest felt tight. Jean had a handle on this. She had to. She had to.)

He tuned back in to the conversation, listened as Jean insisted that they’d done what they’d done to ensure they resurrected Erik and not something else. A strangled sound escaped from the back of Scott’s throat at that, and he cursed himself for drawing the attention back to him. Given the opportunity, Scott had always preferred to exist in the peripheral. To be seen and not heard, the way he’d been taught by his father, Essex, Winters. “If we’d taken shortcuts,” he said, because the attention was on him and if he didn’t make it seem like he had something to say then it might stay that way, “we wouldn’t have solved any problems. Take it from me, that isn’t… It’s not how you want to come back.” An apologetic glance to Jean, the echo of a statement he didn’t dare repeat. Maybe we were better off dead. “Lorna’s safe. You’re safe. Genosha, New York… It’s all safe. We just wanted to keep it that way. That’s all.”

BRUCE: Every word Scott breathed made Bruce’s chest feel tighter and tighter. Safe, like Erik wasn’t capable of controlling himself. Safe, as if something really got out of control, they couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t handle him.

If Erik had needed to be put down because he was a danger to society and he hadn’t even hurt anyone yet, then what did that make Bruce?

Unbeknownst to him, lost in his thoughts, Bruce’s skin under his lab-coat began to turn an eerie shade of green, spiderwebbing out from under his sleeve and onto the fist that gripped Erik’s suit, holding the man up like he was Bruce’s lifeline. “Don’t talk to him like that.” The words sounded echo-y and far-away, like someone had smashed pots and pans together beside his ears and just let them ring. His throat felt full, like he’d been drooling for days and had forgotten to swallow. If they loved him so much, then they wouldn’t have killed him when it became inconvenient.

Would they have?

Hulk roared in the pit of his stomach, startling him into a barely noticeable jump. Gripping Erik tighter, green creeping into the corners of his vision, Bruce managed a not-so-controlled, “I’ve got it from here. You guys’ve done enough, right?” He hated, how much like his father he sounded when his ridiculous Dayton-Ohio-accent came out with his words.

Hated feeling like a monster, in front of judgmental eyes. Bruce may not have known Jean or Scott very well, but he couldn’t trust them any farther than he could throw them. As Banner, anyway. “I’ll make sure he ‘stays out of trouble.’” The words dripped with poorly hidden malice, maybe some misguided hurt, and he couldn’t hold eye contact with either of them anymore. Instead, he focused on Erik. Fed off of his exhaustion and hoped that maybe they could trade places. That maybe the next person that came knocking could put him down instead.

“FRIDAY? Can you make sure my floor is set to 75 degrees? He’s probably going to be a little cold, as tired as he is.” Licking his lips, Bruce cocked an eyebrow, still staring at the ground as if to say ‘Anything else?’

ERIK: Lorna's alive. It was buried in their responses, between excuses and explanations and lies he didn't care to hear, but it was there, nonetheless. Lorna was alive, and some of the panic that had filled his lungs like cement dissipated. Lorna was alive.

With that assurance, it was easier to focus on the rest of what they said. Safe, safe, safe, safe, safe....

(Alles ist gut, alles ist gut--)

And that was funny, wasn't it--absolutely hysterical, and the laughter bubbled up out of his chest before he realized it was coming.

We needed you back. Not someone else. (And it was needed, wasn't it, not wanted--)

It's not how you want to come back. The metal groaned under his fingers, lights flickering for as his voice rose. "What made you think that I wanted to come back?" he snapped, voice cracking for a moment. Just a moment.

Get it together. He cleared his throat, shook off the edges of black tinting his vision, marshalled his focus into staying on his feet. Don't show weakness. (Too late, too late, too late--)

"It doesn't really matter, does it? Because you needed me. And here. I. Am. My life was a problem. My death was a problem. How long do I get the floor this time, Jean?"

He stared across the Cradle at Scott, expression stuck in a strange space between anger and pity. "It was all for keeping everyone safe, hm? Is that what she told you to help you sleep at night, Scott? That you were making the world safe? No, no, no. You stopped me to keep everyone safe--fair enough. Can't begrudge you that. But that's not why you killed me. You killed me because you were angry. Because your chest was burning over Ric, over Kara, over Lorna, over all the failures of your fathers, and because you could take something in recompense. And because she told you to. Good soldier, good husband."

And then, for a moment, some of that anger edged back, some more of the pity filtering in, because Erik knew what it was like to love someone enough to do anything. "Did you realize you said almost the same thing she did, just now, hm? Did she notice?" A brief glance at Jean, before he looked back at Scott. They'd been sharing minds for years. Might be doing so now, even, and that had been the reason he'd never quite let Charles do the same--the fear of not knowing where your thoughts ended and theirs began.

"You and I both held the Phoenix, Scott. You know what it does, what it's like. How long has she been talking to it out loud? Do you feel safe, right now?" His head was starting to swim, the room growing more distant through the tunnel that was starting to settle in front of his vision, and Erik reflected absently that perhaps it wasn't the wisest of choices to be using so much oxygen on talking when his legs were barely keeping under him.

(You don't know when to quit-- oh, he owed Ric so much...)

He felt Banner's shift starting behind him, felt the radiation in the room spike, even through the dim grip he had on his powers at the moment. The man's voice, when it came, was strained, his grip tightening at Erik's back, and he would be lying if he didn't say it wasn't more than a little vindicating to hear the disdain with which the Avenger spoke to Jean and Scott.

He didn't quite get to express that, before the black won out.

JEAN: Jean had been angry her entire life. She’d been angry at what she wasn’t allowed to do, what she was, how she could go against the natural order of things and nothing ever seemed to come of it -- not until later, at least -- not until the sum of all her mistakes came crashing down in one fell swoop and she was left drowning at the deep end. But there was always someone who dove in, whether it was a backyard pool or the ocean during a raging storm, and that was Scott. Scott, who changed the world for her. Scott, who she changed the world for. Scott who killed a man when Jean asked him to, who would live and die for her, who promised to spend his life by her side regardless of whether she was beside him at the breakfast table or six foot under in a cemetery.

“Don’t speak to my husband like that,” Jean said, taking a step in front of Scott when Bruce shot him a glare. She didn’t come to the other scientist to be judged. She didn’t come here to be treated as the villain when she knew, deeply and instinctively, what the Phoenix was capable of -- how it changed people, twisted them up inside, changed them. She came here for one reason and one reason only, and he was standing in front of her now.

He was standing in front of her angry, but Jean knew him far too well to expect anything else, even if there was still a sickening disappointment swirling in her gut. “Because I always did,” she said, her voice quiet. Because she always would want to come back, regardless of what horrors were awaiting her the second air filled her lungs once more. Life would forever, constantly, be preferable to the lingering emptiness on the other side. “Because I thought--”

You didn’t deserve this. She wasn’t sure if he would hear it, if she was broadcasting it, if the feelings were leaking out of her like water from a cracked dam. “Because I’ve always needed you.”

Because it was her fault. The Phoenix wouldn’t be a part of their lives if it wasn’t for her decision on the shuttle at eighteen years old, a stupid child playing at being a god, a woman so desperate for approval from anywhere that she’d take sycophancy whispering in her head and preach it like gospel. “It wasn’t you, Erik. It wasn’t you any more than it was me on that lawn.”

He didn’t see that now. Maybe he never would. But Jean knew there was no other option, no other choice. Erik would admit himself there was nothing that could stop him from accomplishing his mission unless it was death. He was a man forged by soldiers’ cruelty, but he shared their pragmatism, their single-minded focus.

And then he kept talking, and the Phoenix roared to life in her mind -- almost laughing. Yes, it was laughing. It was bitter and cruel, but it was laughter, genuine amusement.

Oh look, she whispered, you brought him back insane.

“We were angry,” Jean said. “Of course we were angry. You violated the very principles we founded Genosha on when you threatened one of our own in a public place, for all to see. We were meant to be peaceful, a sanctuary. We were meant to be safety, and you turned it into your own personal battleground where you were judge, jury and executioner. You ripped apart the sanctity of a woman’s mind who is good and kind and honest in more ways than we could ever be, and you pointed a gun at the head of every citizen in New York and tried to justify it in a way that didn’t make you sound like Shaw.”

Because yes, that was in the notes she’d collected. Yes, that was in the memories he’d shared with her. Yes, she knew all about it -- and she knew that, if it came down to it, Erik would never become the monster that had ripped him apart and put him back together different than was ever intended. He wouldn’t wanted her to stop him. Her father would’ve wanted that.

Maybe this man wasn’t her father.

Bruce spoke again, and this time Jean let out a bitter huff of almost laughter. “Right,” she said, “because the Avengers are such a safe place for mutants, always have been. Remind me of all you did for our kind while you were parading the streets after your great victories and we were still hiding in backalleys, getting murdered for how we were born.”

(Jean never had a personal problem with the Avengers. She never understood why Scott burned with resentment towards what they represented, even if the people themselves weren’t to blame. She did now. Bruce stood there, on a pedestal despite his mistakes, looking down on them as if they were to pity. Like they were the monsters.)

“Erik, you belong at home. You belong in the place you helped to build. You belong in your own paradise. Come home, and we can be there or we can leave, but don’t--”

Don’t push us away. Not just Scott and Jean, which was inevitable, but the entirety of mutantkind that resided in the streets he’d pieced together. Everything he’d worked for, everything he’d sacrificed, and the Phoenix had torn it apart.

And then Erik hit the ground, and Jean was beside him in an instant, fingers going to the pulse on his neck as her other hand squeezed his arm.

Breathing? the Phoenix enquired. Jean nodded. How unfortunate. I thought we’d get to work together, again.

Jean looked back up at Bruce, at Scott, and slowly rose to her feet. Reluctant to leave him when the experiment was so new, so uncertain, and reluctant to leave him because everything within her screamed that was her family hurting, on the floor, aching.

“Take care of him,” Jean said to Bruce, reaching for Scott’s hand to intertwine their fingers together. Flames flickered, orange and purple at the tips, and formed a circle -- a circle she could see through, right back to their sofa and fireplace back in Genosha, right back to home where Rachel would no doubt be making cocoa in the kitchen. She’d never done that before.

Cosmic travel? Of course we have. You just forget. The human mind can only bend so far.

Jean squeezed Scott’s hand once more, knuckles white, and past the burning in her chest and throat she took a step into the portal, unsure whether she’d just healed a wound or created a new one.

#( adding a little bit of spicy doom tones at the beginning for *drama* ) #f: discord #d: back from the dead #c: scott summers #c: jean grey #c: bruce banner #tw: murder mention #tw: abuse mention #tw: grief #tw: ptsd #tw: mental health issues

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Precious Friend

The beds were platforms attached to the walls that lifted up to an opening aptly called a coffin rack that served as under-bed storage. There were four beds in a room. Besides the coffin rack storage, there was one locker per occupant. That was all.

Aaron tried and failed to fit all his gear into a locker before giving it up and tossing it on top of his bed next to where his foot would be. “People live here for months? Jesus…” He muttered.

Brian held out his hands, “I have space in my locker, give it here.” 

“Careful, my guns are in there.” Despite his words, he tossed his bag to him and hopped up to pull himself onto the top bunk.

“I know. That’s why I don’t want it getting tossed about if we hit rough seas.” He tucked the bag into the locker and shut it securely.

“I hope none of you get seasick. Masato peered down from his top bunk where he was surfing on his phone.

Rodney meanwhile stood in the doorway looking in despair and wondering if he was even short enough to fit into the flimsy blankets. This was a common issue. At six feet and four inches, he was too tall for a lot of things. He caught Masato’s smirk and inwardly grumbled that, for once, someone who could fit into a locker like him had the upper hand.

Masato turned back to his phone. “I’ve been doing some research into what the Lieutenant told us. Norma doesn’t really contradict anything that she said. She’s just… less conclusive about the actual existence of the dragons they spoke of. The lack of written record is a problem, but the rainbow serpent’s connection to alchemy is pretty solid.” He turned his phone to them. “The appearance of a serpent looped in a circle is common in Egyptian depictions of an afterlife, but it doesn’t have much context. Still, European alchemists adapted this symbol into their own writing.”

“So it had to mean something…” Aaron whispered, opening his phone as well.

“I’m going to bed.” Brian ducked into the small gap between the top and bottom beds and disappeared.

Aaron let out an awed sigh. “Wow… their definition of Speech Spirits is Voodoo… I wonder… I wonder if we’ll get to see something like that. Sounds spooky.”

He dipped his head down to peer at Brian. “You’re sure you’re okay with your lady out by herself with a bunch of a voodoo?”

Brian gave him an annoyed glare. “By their definition aren’t we also practicing voodoo when we use our soul skills?”

“Oh that’s true.”

Brian rolled over to face the wall.

“But you didn’t deny she’s your lady.”

“Shut up.”

---------------

Mr. Baldwin didn’t go with the rest of the students to the residential deck. He instead followed Dofi, the youngest of the quadruplets towards the Officer’s area on the ship. Dofi kept up the act, nodding dutifully at the sailors who had no idea he was masquerading as his brother.

“How long are you going to keep up this act?” He mumbled quietly.

“As long as I can!” Dofi flashed his brilliant teeth and chuckled. “After all, it’s not often I get to be captain.”

Mr. Baldwin raised his eyebrows. “Really? Somehow I doubt that. Switching identities would be an easy way to keep sailors on their toes at all times. I envy your ability to be in multiple places at once… so to speak.”

They came to an elevator. Dofi, scanned his ID and it opened and they stepped inside. Mr. Baldwin stifled a yawn. “Will you be joining us for our discussion?”

“Nah…” Dofi waved his hand. “Foli wanted to speak with you privately. And I have an assignment that just came up. We can have fun later!” He gave him a hard slap on the shoulder that nearly took his breath away.

The doors opened and there was Foli, grinning, bearing the Cassell College world tree logo on his chest. The two men both embraced each other rocking back and forth. 

“It’s been too long. Too long, brother!” Foli growled happily. “Come in and sit down! We need to catch up!”

Foli ushered him into the room. It was centered by a large wood table and decorated with maps, globes, and had a view of the vast ocean. There was no wine or cigar, but a box of fine chocolate on the table.

Mr. Baldwin took a seat at the table and Foli joined him. “Wow, are these chocolates made by hand?”

“Of course, I’ve been saving them for this occasion.”

Together they reached in. The chocolate was velvet smooth, full of butter and had just the right bitterness, fruitiness and sweetness. Mr. Baldwin closed his eyes. “It’s just like what you brought with you to Cassell…”

“Yes…”

He looked at him. “How’s your father?”

Foli sighed. “Still unwell, we’re expecting his passing soon.”

Mr. Baldwin’s eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry. I’ve dragged you away.”

Foli patted his hand to reassure him. “Our ancestors are never truly gone. His mind is resting in his body, waiting to be set free from its confines. He would never forgive me for missing out on this opportunity. You met with him before… yes? I was always curious. How did that go?”

“He didn’t tell you? Basically, he just wanted to congratulate me and give me some encouragement. Losing Professor Schneider was very difficult. Not just his death but the pressure of the expectations.” Unable to resist, Mr. Baldwin accepted another chocolate from the box.

“In the end, his choice was the correct one.” Foli spoke reassuringly to him. “Not only your training and education, but the power of your Soul Skill is undeniable.”

Mr. Baldwin grimaced. “I can barely control it. I’m no Anjou.”

“Such humility… it’s born of wisdom. It will keep you safe.”

“Keep me safe?” Mr. Baldwin chuckled with surprise. “I don’t recall safety being mentioned in this job description. But you do have a point… Time Zero, when it comes to applications on the battlefield…” He ducked his head and huffed. “It’s a bit unfair!”

“Just a bit!” Foli leaned against the table with one arm. “You’re not tired?”

“I am. But I can’t sleep.” He turned his eyes to the window. “The moon’s too bright tonight. And it’s nice to come here and chat.”

“How like you.” Foli said, delighted. “Then you’re fine with chatting with me?”

Mr. Baldwin gave him a small smile. “It would be an honor to chat with such a precious friend as you. The only thing lacking is some champagne.”

“I hope you don’t mind some tea instead? There’s a kettle.” Foli stood up and moved to a cabinet. Mr. Baldwin watched as he poured the tea and brought it back over to the table.

“What are we drinking tonight?”

“Just regular black.”

Mr. Baldwin began to chuckle.

“What’s so funny?”

He took a deep breath of the tea wafting into his nose and sat back in his chair. “When I visited the Italian branch to meet with Commissioner Gattuso they served me some tea called “Imperial Red” from China. It’s supposedly over a million dollars a pound.”

“Oh really?” Foli blew over his cup.

Mr. Baldwin gave him a fond smile. “I’ve gotta say. I like regular black better.”

Foli raised it in a small toast. “Only the best.”

They touched their cups together. Mr. Baldwin allowed himself to relax, letting the steam warm his face. “I don’t have many people in this business who understand me as much as you do. I miss the days in the dorm where we used to stay up and talk all night.”

“Yes… so do I. It’s been too long since we’ve had tea together.” Foli’s eyes fell to his cup. “But… you would do most of the talking!”

“I had a lot to say! Especially right before our graduation, remember? I had to go away to run the Executive Branch, and you were chosen by the elders to lead as well.”

“Is that the last time? I can’t quite remember.” Foli scratched his head.

“You wouldn’t. We drank a lot more than tea.” Mr. Baldwin lowered his voice. “You got piss drunk. No wonder you don’t remember.”

“Oh…” Foli looked bashful. “Well, you understand… alcohol has never passed my lips since.”

“It’s a cruel tradition. You can’t even spike a little brandy to help you relax without losing your job?”

“It’s just the way it is, my friend.”

Mr. Baldwin started to laugh again. “I was frantic trying to dry you out before you had to report to your family.”

Foli looked mournful. “You did?”

“Seems like you don’t remember that either.”

“Well your memory has always been better than mine!” Foli replied. “Always has been. After all, you didn’t even confuse me with my brother! To be frank… it was a relief that you still remember.”

Mr. Baldwin reached into his pocket and pulled out a small gold medallion. It was carved with a skull ringed by twining vines. “Which reminds me, I think this belongs to you.”

Foli gasped, inhaling the tea he had just sipped. He covered his mouth, choking. “Where did you get that?” He asked around the coughs.

“You don’t remember but you left it in my room all those years ago. I couldn’t give it back to you without revealing to your family that you got drunk. So I took the opportunity to return it today.”

Foli reverentially took the medallion, speechless. “These relics are priceless. I assumed it was stolen from me.” He muttered quietly. His heart slammed in his chest as he tilted the heavy metal in his hand, watching the light shimmer across it.

“No one’s seen it but you and I.” Mr. Baldwin watched his friend’s reaction feeling deeply satisfied. “I’m the head of the Executive Branch. You will soon be one of the spearheads of the West Africa Branch. With Anjou, the relationship was wary. I hope to change that. Starting tonight.”

Foli opened his mouth to speak, eyes still glued to the medallion. But no words came out. He finally looked up at him. “Were it just up to me, I would absolutely accept full cooperation with Cassell. But these heavy matters? They’re left up to the Elder Council. That said, I will strongly convey your trustworthiness.”

He placed the medallion in his pocket. “Grant. People said that you changed after you were appointed, but you’re still the same person.”

“I changed only on the outside. I had to. Or else the Executive Branch might have fractured.”

Foli nodded. “I remember when we first met. I was full of many different worries.  I was… not prepared to make friends, but to maintain our secrets to maintain our superiority over the European Hybrids. At least, what I perceived to be superiority.”

Grant poured himself another cup. “I remember too. You were determined to show us up. Not that I blame you. The rest of our classmates wanted to teach you rather than the other way around.”

“I was shocked when all you asked were questions.”

Grant sipped. “That you didn’t want to answer.’

“And I asked, ‘why do you want to know?’ What did you say to me back then?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here? To teach us?” Grant replied.

“Yes that’s it. Your memory never fails!” He laughed. “Both Cassell and the West Africans have viewed each other with suspicion. Even now… it’s a bad habit.” Foli drummed his fingers on the table.

“One can’t be too careful.” Grant shrugged. “Trust is earned gradually.”

His expression turned grim. “You’re too kind. I just hope that trust gets its chance to grow and is not choked out by stubbornness and pride.”

Grant glanced at him. “Is there something wrong?”

Foli smiled again. “Ah… I believe it’s late. The moon is making me sentimental! But a cloud just covered it and broke the spell. We should get our rest.”

Together, they stood up. “Thanks for chatting with me. I hope we get this opportunity again… sooner this time.”

Together they walked out of the main meeting room, when they walked, it was hand in hand, leaving the cups steaming on the table.

#Class of 2032 #Dragon Raja #Fanfiction

[kynimdraws]

Full body sketch references of my Claude hc family!. Definitely read up on the first link post if you want to see my extensive timeline hcs for the parents specifically. Baby!Claude is a design that my friend @rorvk made on twitter tho! Parents are completely my design.

The reason Claude and Tiana have alternate names is bc they took in Almyran names (Claude bc he was born there, and Tiana to blend in).

Some more family hcs below the cut!

While the Leicester Alliance were histotically not on good terms with Almyra, there was an attempt for both sides to patch things up and had many trade/diplomatic talks thanks to Duke Riegan of that time (Claude’ grandfather, Tiana’s father). As a result, the Riegan family and the Almyran royal family had several summitt meetings. That’s where Tiana met up with Arash for the first time at the age of 13.  They both bonded over different archery training techniques, since Tiana was very much taught in the Fodlan style while Arash was more into the Almyran style. Both spent time together and their families were okay with but the other Leicester noble families weren’t.

Despite seeing the success of these talks, many nobles complained enough (plus some another series of Almyran-Leceister raids made things worse) that Lord Riegan was forced to forbid Tiana from seeing Arash again. This caused a huge strain between her and the family.  This involved Lord Riegan telling her to never leave Garreg Mach (where she was still a student, House Leader) without having permission from the family. Despite the monastery keeping an eye on her constantly, Tiana convinced Judith to help her escape to Almyra to see Arash again. With that she cut off all ties with Fodlan, met up with Arash, and was eventually introduced as queen. She was 18 at this time.

Of course the Almyrans were not all welcoming at this foreigner and there were some factions who did target her (and later her son) with assassinations/poisonings, but eventually her reputation as the warrior queen eventually decreased those incidents. Even with the issues she had in Almyra, she preferred this life over her old life. Leceister was aware the current Almyran King had a queen but given how Tiana made the point to never appear in any Fodlan-related visits with Almyra, no one could confirm/deny whether Tiana was there. Plus Tiana adapted an Almyran name so she was well hidden.

When Godfrey did die and Riegan was scrambling to find their new heir, they desperately tried to find Tiana and even asked Almyra for help, knowing their daughter had ties there. But no answers came, and so Tiana was just considered missing.

While the Almyran royal family would have been content being away from Fodlan for an indefinite amount of time, Tiana later realized her own son inherited her ever-inquiring and cunning mind. Naturally she saw her son increasingly ask about his non-Almyran ties. It also didn’t help Claude’s childhood consisted of trying to avoid assassinations/poisonings and discrimination from a faction of the Almyran court. This faction also spread rumors about how he was only half-Almyran aka not worthy of the crown.

While Tiana was still unwilling to come to terms with her family, Claude wanted to go see them and also explore Fodlan for himself. He also wished to run away from this fractured court since he felt unwelcomed. Arash was very much against it, but Tiana secretly let him escape. She knew he would attempt to do it alone otherwise, and felt she had to help him sate his curiosity at least. She even gave one of her personal jewlery and old Garreg Mach uniform that she escaped with all those years ago as proof for Claude to have when he can introduce himself to House Riegan.

Upon reaching Fodlan, Tiana also employed Judith’s help to have Claude be introduced.  While the Riegans were doubtful at first, Lord Riegan sees his daughter’s eyes in the boy and the Crest that he bore. Even without the Crest, the Lord was so overwhelmed to see the son of his beloved lost daughter that it wouldn’t have changed his mind much. Claude still faced discrimination within the Alliance, but thankfully his life in the Almyran court taught Claude to be savvy. When the rest of the Leceister Alliance was in shock and arguing against Lord Riegan about this new “upstart” heir, Claude just took it in stride. At least no one here was going to poison him LOL

#fire emblem three houses #fire emblem #fe3h #fe16 #claude von riegan #claude fe #kyleeart #arash the generous #ocs #fe3h argent skies #argent skies #fe3h argent skies bios #tiana von riegan

[amandajoyce118]

Agents Of SHIELD S7E06 “Adapt Or Die” Easter Eggs And References

In this episode, Mack’s parents are in trouble, the jet is in trouble, Daisy is in trouble, Simmons is in trouble. I mean, really, everything and everyone is in trouble.

Like I always say, I’m writing this with the understanding that people reading it have seen the episode. There are spoilers. Plenty of spoilers. You’ve been warned.

.

.

.

The Opening Logo

While the logo’s lettering being layered over the picture is a pretty ‘80s movie move, the font used looks an awful lot like the one used for Jemma’s solo episode in season three. Anyone know if it’s actually the same?

It’s The Fourth Of July

Okay, it might be 1976 in this episode, but hey, Daisy just celebrated a birthday on July 2. I wonder if she knows what day it is.

Director Stoner’s Hologram

The hologram of Rick Stoner should look familiar. Coulson and May accessed it when they originally made it to the Lighthouse in the present. Maybe they’re the reason there’s an alien invasion option in the computer menu after all.

A Space Octopus

Despite Nathaniel not being sacrificed to Hive, he apparently knows the full story of Hive looking like a space octopus. That kind of begs the question as to whether or not Hive came to Earth early, but probably not.

Xandarian Snail

Ah, yes, Fitz’s least favorite delicacy from outer space gets a mention. 

Jiaying

That would be Daisy’s mom, of course. Whitehall literally chopped her up and harvested her organs in order to transfer her abilities to himself. Jiaying was thrown out with the trash before Cal found her and stitched her back together. Daisy knows exactly what she’s in for when Nathaniel talks about Reinhardt, Whitehall’s previous name.

Mike Stevens

Interesting name choice for the soldier who kept Sousa going. Why? Because Michael Stevens is a relatively common name, but he was an employee of Marvel Comics in the ‘70s. Specifically, he was a letterer on The Avengers books. There’s also a character with the name in the World War Hulk comics, but he only appears in a single issue.

Deke Using The Defibrillator And The Extinguisher

These are two items that are very specifically Fitz and Simmons items over the course of the show. The fire extinguisher is often Jemma’s weapon of choice in found object situations. They also used a defibrillator to help them escape the pod at the bottom of the ocean in the first season. 

Sybill

It’s interesting that Sybill speaks with Chronicoms in a mental space. It’s not unlike the Kree’s Supreme Intelligence speaking to people in a mindspace as well. We’ve seen Daisy and Carol break free of Kree control in the mind space as well. It begs the question of whether the Kree developed it from the Chronicoms or the Chronicoms developed it from the Kree. 

Nathaniel’s Bones

He says that his bones are cracking when he comes back to Daisy and Sousa. That’s because his body isn’t equipped to deal with Daisy’s power. Remember, when Daisy was still going by Skye in season two, she kept turning her powers inward, specifically on her own hands and arms, creating stress fractures over and over again. The gloves, and later gauntlets, Simmons created helped her stop doing that and learn to control her power.

That’s all I’ve got for this week, though I’m sure I probably missed a few!

#agents of shield #aos season 7 #aos spoilers #aos easter eggs

[mtab2260]

I realized I never actually gave a... I guess— description on what Turbine Addition really is. Then also how I got the idea and built Lukian.

(Warning long essay)

Basically, when I was on my third rewatch of the show since august, I was watching episode 3x10: Maveth and I had a interesting thought after May snuck away from everyone to find Andrew. What if, Lash or Andrew actually spares one inhuman In that compound? It’s not completely unheard of/ unrealistic, he did spare Daisy on multiple occasions. But— obviously, I had to give a reason why this inhuman was spared over the others.

It was a idea that floated in my mind for maybe a month, I wanted to create an Inhuman who was spared by Lash and ends up joining the team from there on. I kept thinking of angles on how I could do it but none of them ever seemed right. Until I watched episode 2x17 with my friend— who I had blackmailed into watching the show. (Yes, I did two rewatches at once.)

For those of you who don’t know by heart each episode by it’s number (I had to look it up)— the title is Melinda, and it’s the episode where we finally learn about Bahrain. When I rewatched that episode the idea just teleported into my brain.

Lash spares an Inhuman because one of them is a child.

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Obviously during episode 3x10 Andrew still had some control over Lash and wasn’t fully tainted by him yet. So when Andrew/ Lash saw the kid Andrew definitely fought for every ounce of control he had over the situation. He knew how killing a kid— no matter how much the situation demands it— can destroy a person, because he saw it happen to May.

Then I also kept thinking about the inhuman epidemic and then later— Robin, like how she definitely couldn’t only ever be the only inhuman child during the outbreak, right? It was just highly unlikely. We know Terrigenesis at a young age, or any age really can change a person. Not just physically, or on a cellular level, but mentally. We see it with Andrew and also with Katya, and Robin. Which, all in all is really fitting— Andrew was May’s husband, May killed Katya, and Robin was May’s daughter.

But nonetheless that’s not my point, my point is at Afterlife there was a certain age everyone went through the mist. It was an age where they’re young enough to adapt, but old enough to understand. Now, Katya and Robin were both young when going through Terrigenesis and their gifts were something that were more mental than others. It was contained to their body, it wasn’t an external gift like Daisy’s, Lincon’s, Joey’s, James‘, Kora’s. It was like Jiayang‘s, Gordon’s, Raina’s, Yo-Yo’s, Andrew’s— all of their powers are contained to their person.

So if they didn’t have a mental gift like Katya and Robin, and they were at-least mature enough to understand then having a kid go through Terrigenisis could work. And obviously if you’re gonna create a character that has an external gift, you gotta give them an uncontrollable destructive power like Daisy’s. But the fun thing about Daisy’s power, is that it also has endless creative possibilities.

I wanted a power like that.

After some workshopping and a few completely terrible ideas... I got: air molecule manipulation. Or other words, tornado powers. Before I started thinking on how his powers worked I needed an explicit way to think of how Daisy’s powers worked since I was modeling his power after hers. From my two rewatches at the same time I started making notes on what we knew about her powers and how they feel to her specifically.

She can hear the vibrations of everything around her (but it’s not as noticeable at first glance)

Can amplify the ’sound’ of the vibrations to cause an earthquake, or avalanche

Internalizing her powers improperly caused her arms to fracture

Strong beam of concentrated vibrations for a long period of time can cause her to blackout/ nosebleed

The vibrations don’t only just come out of her arms

Lack of care can also lead to her arms to fracture

Now vibrations and electricity, are both element related powers, but they work differently. Lincoln said after he went through the mist every cell in his body generated a different electronic charge. Basically, the power (pun intended) came from his body without needing an external source. Yes, I know I said Lincoln‘s power was an external one, but it isn’t contained to his mind— or person. I feel Daisy’s vibrational powers are different, mostly because, if she could generate vibrations directly from her cells then her bones wouldn’t be breaking from too much of it. Kinda like how Scorch had those fire pellets in his blood to prevent him from burning himself, Daisy doesn’t have vibrational immunity.

Gordon said everything in the universe was giving off it’s own vibrational frequency, and Daisy could control that. So in order for her to quake Talbot’s ass to the sun she need to obsorb the vibrations around her, store them in her first (the bees under her skin), then send the vibrations out through her palms.

I’m not gonna get into why her bones crack and everything, but it’s an important downside.

Obviously.

As I said I wanted to model my character’s powers as closely as I could to Daisy’s, which I did, but I couldn’t do it exactly for obvious reasons. Yes, you store air like oxygen and carbon dioxide (not for long) in your body temporarily— but your body is going to use it because it needs it. Plus you can’t send air molecules through skin tissue like vibrations can— it’s why we have noses. The skin tissue is too dense for the diffusion of the molecules to take place there. So if I had to say, his power is more of a cross of Daisy’s power and Joey’s power. He needs an external source to wield his power and manipulate the element he can control, but can’t store it in his own body.

So I had a powerful power for my character but I needed a downside. Each incredibly OP power had one: Daisy with her bones, Robin could see the past— present— and future but just didn’t know what went where, Raina became the monster under the bed (or Sonic), Jiayang had to kill someone to heal herself. I thought for a while on this, how can I make a downside for a power like that?

Obviously there’s not many options because oxygen is such a fragile thing to living organisms, and lack of it isn’t exactly ideal. Fitz’s brain damage being a prime example, another example being all those people who died due to hypoxia on the floating ship where the Gravitonium was. So as I said— fragile.

I was going over my notes again of Daisy’s power when the hearing aspect struck a cord. Since their powers are so similar in the aspect of they’re both natural disasters, he was going to need a way to create those tornados around him, like with Daisy and the earthquakes— when the power isn’t concentrated but it’s still triggered. I wanted the sound to be like what you hear when you hear wind over the phone, and when it’s blowing past your ears and it creates that sound. That’s where I got the inspiration from really, static noise and whistling.

So I had that down, and instead of it being like Daisy’s, the sound is much, much more apparent. Mostly because you can hear the wind, like when is passes your ears or if the wind current is just strong enough— but you can’t necessarily hear vibrations. You can when you put your finger on the rim of a water glass and go around the edge, but if you don‘t... you don’t really hear much (I think). And also another thing, sound in general.

The reason why there’s no sound in space is because there’s no air molecules in space, there’s nothing for the sound waves to hitch a ride on. Which leads me to my next point. If he can hear the wind and the air molecules around him and sound passes through the air molecules then he could hear sound through his powers without needing ears. You’re basically adding a third— non-connected to the others— ear.

And people get sensory overload just normally, adding that third ear would be too much. So long story short: the down side to air molecule manipulation powers is... headaches. But like a really bad headache, I don’t know if they’re migraines at that point, I know there’s a difference but I haven’t done my research on that yet. But essentially, headaches. And later on there will be a fix for that.

Just keep in mind chapter seven.

Now the one thing I absolutely love about AoS is despite all the crazy, outlandish stuff they go through— there is always science and reason to back it all up, making it seem ever more realistic. And that’s what I love, the realism of it all (Yes, I‘m well aware they do time-travel, and there’s aliens/ superpowers). So if I was going to make a story, then I needed it to be realistic, otherwise I’d probably hate it myself.

And I’d rather not hate my own fic— thank you very much.

So when I thought about Flint, him being fifteen, with inhuman powers and the team was still hesitant to bring him in because he’s a kid— I knew I had a problem. Especially since my character is thirteen. I needed a realistic answer to why and how the team would actually allow a thirteen year old to join SHIELD.

Being inhuman helps, sure. Especially with a power that could rival Daisy’s (tornadoes are bloody strong). But he’s still a kid. It does help that with how tense season three is with inhumans and Hive they’ll need all the backup they can get, even if it’s an inhuman kid who Hive can control. I have very logical reasons why Lukian stays with the team despite everything, but it hasn’t been revealed yet so I’m gonna keep my trap shut.

I’ll give you a hint though, there’s a reason why he can lie so well.

Now onto the character himself, Lukian. Why I made Lukian the way he is? Well the trauma part is very clear, you can’t have a main character without trauma. That’s just simply unheard of.

For gender, I thought about making him a girl at first because that’s what AoS is all about really— Strong women. But... all the lines I had in mind, just made it seem cheesy and with poor writing. So he became a boy. Sorry.

For his name, Lukian, honestly it’s not much of a story. I just really suck at creating names and thought a kid in my class had a really cool name so I copied it for my character. I know it’s Ukrainian, but that doesn’t mean that’s Lukian’s (my character) ethnicity. Especially since Lukian isn’t apparently his name... cough cough (Kelly Clements) Cough. That specifically will be revealed in the next chapter, if I ever finish it. And when I first thought (copied) it, I didn’t realize how close it would be to Lincoln and how much similar those names look if you read them really fast.

So, my bad on that part.

For Lukian’s (Kelly’s) age it goes back to Terrigenisis warping his mind, and the logic and reason. No matter how kick-ass a seven year old may be, he’s still a seven year old and everyone but May won’t see past that. Plus, school.

For his personality it goes back to that trauma section. Trauma and experiences make us who we are, so obviously that will play a bit part in who Lukian is. And for all the trauma you pick up you will need a coping mechanism to hand all of it. Whether it’s break down right there, bottle it up, run away, hide from it, ignore it— whatever it is, we all have one. And for Lukian his coping mechanism is just pretending that he doesn’t care, that he’s fine— that there’s nothing wrong. It’s not that he’s completely like Simmons who created a horror movie in her locked up tight music box, though in a way it’s simular. A big part is bottling things up, putting on a mask— but another part of it is just simply not caring.

Personally that’s my coping mechanism, it’s terrible and when I become a real adult I’m bloody fucked, but it’s what I do. I have a big test coming up, what do I do? I don’t study and don’t let it stress me out. I just don’t care about it and don’t think about it until when I’m actually taking the test. I still get decent grades too so it’s not a completely bullshit mechanism, but boy, my future is going to die fast. Mostly because I’m in high school and I don’t really know how to study now because of this.

Anyway, back to the story, that’s essentially his coping mechanism. Along with a hint of deflection with humor too. Again, like Daisy. As I go more into the story you’ll find there are many Lukian and Daisy parallels. It’s probably why Daisy has taken such a liking to Lukian in the first place, and why they get along so well despite barely knowing each other for three weeks. Or it’s because I wrote them that way, who knows?

The reason why I had Lukian have an interest in robotics and in engineering goes back to the downside with his powers. As you may know, the kid may have stolen a few things from the lab to help with that headache of his. Plus if he’s good in science and has a usefulness besides fighting, then it’s another reason for him to join. Obviously the team isn’t gonna just let him ditch school, so him actually being smart helps if school isn’t well... at a school.

Now, why did I name this fic the way I did?

The Addition part is very simple and easy, Lukian is an addition to the team. I wanted that to always be in the title, but what I wanted before that was something that related to Lukian. Whether it’s his powers, or personality, it didn’t really matter but nothing really called out to me or fit properly. And again as I said I’m terrible at naming things, currently on chapter ten I’m more than half way done, I still don’t have a bloody name for it. So like my coping mechanism, I forgot about it for a bit.

So I went on to what the team’s connections will be with Lukian, thinking about who each member of the team is to Lukian and how close he is to everyone. Obviously May’s relationship with him will be most strained, not because of May herself and her trauma, but because of his too (I’m not saying anymore). And the closest relationship he’ll have will be with Daisy, because again paralells. And, because she was the one to find him and she is also his transitioner and trainer.

And while I was thinking about all of that, no matter where Mack was on the closest relationship list, there was no way Lukian was getting on the team without a nickname from the nickname king. And since if you’re inhuman basically it’s a rule your nickname will be based off of that I started sorting through air related nicknames. Breezy was my top choice originally but Breezy Addition just didn’t sound as strong as Turbine Addition. But don’t worry Breezy as a nickname from Mack isn’t going to disappear, it’s just going to take a while to get to from a writing standpoint.

And.... this is when I’ve realized I’ve been writing this for the past three hours and now it’s bloody three am. Thanks for coming to my extra long Ted Talk/ fifty paged essay.

And if anyone actually read all of this... holy bloody fuck you have a long attention span.

#Turbineaddition #fanfic #inhumans #aos

[deviationdivine]

Deviant Heat • Connor x Reader

DBH After Dark Series

8.2k words

tw: language, smut • rated m/explicit

a/n: 1st full dbh after dark one-shot for 300 followers celebration. This milestone is past but finally have something for it. Thank you loves. Also this includes a nod to an original aesthetic idea used exclusively in a discord server rp involving a murder case detailing the Detroit Ripper. This original story line might creep into other fics down the road. Are you ready for some sin?

“Everything is secure.”

Officer Miller gave the android the all clear despite their sporadic correspondence throughout the day. Let’s say he heard some things while holding down the fort. After their officers left harbor docks, Chris was saddled with evidence compiling. He and a few of the others had to deal without the major detectives especially the RK800.

“Nothing on the inside as you know. Looks like our killer just left that unpleasant surprise on the door.”

Connor’s brows knit together. Surprise is inadequate to describe having evidence smeared on his door. This killer came too close. Imagining you home without him sends a ripple of stress through his tall frame. He holds composure stiffly. His shoulders are tense, eyes fixing on open door. Cleaned by forensics he understands you wished to handle the process in the lab but he already handed it off to someone else. This is far different.

“Has there been any more reported correspondence from them?” he tilts his head as he ponders aloud.

The last message he personally received pointed to him not able to protect for long. A taunt made to illicit a specific reaction. Nothing will prevent him keeping you safe.

Connor’s posture is wound, defensive while in wait. Resembling that of a rearing lion, only the ruffle of a mane shows his inner protective instincts. Churning inside, a blip of fire clouding LED and the android will circle in a predatory thrall. The need outweighs any other parameters as he constructs his own. He will stay up tonight, forego stasis and make sure nothing gets through. As long as you sleep soundly, hopefully you will not worry then.

“Nothing new,” the officer responds with a shrug. “Been quiet since –”

Miller scratches under his cap awkwardly. “Hey, Connor. How’s the lieutenant? I mean really?” He heard about the accident. Spread pretty quickly through department but it’s Gavin who decided to shout it from the rafters. Was anything else to be expected? Reed has a big mouth.

“Hank is doing as well as can be expected.” Explaining the lieutenant’s condition, Connor cannot help but feel responsible. If only he had been there. This murderer will not get away with this. Injuring his partner is only one small step towards the RK800’s true defensive nature.

Deviant or not he still carries those instincts pitting him against his foes with the utmost proficiency.  He will forever remain a skilled killer with combat prowess. There is no turning back the tide on what he is. He was made this way. However, he is also very much alive. Even as he debates this internally, realizing that he wishes to tear this killer apart piece by piece. Connor’s attention is elsewhere, distracted. This is no good for him. He needs to focus.

Life is different for him following the revolution. Deviancy is a blessing but can also be a curse. Emotions are an intricate web. Each one threads as a silky string stronger than it appears. Tendrils glittering, holding weight of emotional surges as dangerous as a tight rope act.

Still this sensation sparkles anew, fresh with those revitalized days since fracturing barriers. His wall is no longer keeping him at bay. Lost in a sea of free will, thought and drive pushes him beyond intricacies of code. It pushes him to you.

He inhales, nodding his head to Chris Miller as he wraps up with the few remaining DPD personnel. They have been coming and going through this high rise all day. Luckily they live on the bottom floor.

Connor finally enters. Shutting and locking door, the android presses palm against security scanner. Skin melts away revealing white plastic, his eyes blinking in succession with panel connection; he primes it for added protection, gaze softening at you near window.

Seemingly staring at nothing in particular through pane, everything is tense around your figure and it pulls him away. Moving up behind, sliding his bare fingers in a glide against your neck, his head drops down breathing beside ear.

“Y/N.”

Smooth white digits, his husky voice make you shiver into him. Already sweeping arms over waist, he tugs close to hold you safely and full of this burning need. He always wanted you but most importantly he needs you. Tonight you need him it is abundantly clear.

“Everything will be all right.” Whispering close allows lips to brush warm skin.

Data analysis screams out your anxieties and his arms tighten, snug, a warning to that fucking killer; Connor’s jaw tightens, falling into his deviant emotions, ruthless edge of negotiator presents itself at full light. His can be a blind side as he turns to those machine instincts. They will complete his mission.

He vows as certain as emotional ignition sparking his system anew. A way to fix, prevent these grisly murders gripping Detroit. Anyway he can and stopping this Ripper will end this.

“Please, calm down,” he advises, processes data compiling. “Your stress is far too high.”

It riddles him too but he masters a determined expression, a brave face. As the humans are prone to say and Connor kisses your jaw, massaging long fingers down against hips. A huff of breath lurches up his throat in a cradled pull of synthetic heart.

Sensors are high in his artificial epidermis, digging deep below its pale tissue. Even unto the wholly plastic frame hidden beneath he is a living being. Sentience is more than what is built in him. Adaptable to environment as he and transmutes solely of machine, biocomponents to particles of his humanity. Subatomic in system, unknown to naked eye but inside he feels them grow. As true, alive he grows since revolution’s end.

“Nothing can hurt us together, love.” Oaths are still new to him. Even as he understands, learns to accept this deviancy. “I will never let anything happen. I love you. And no murderer will change that. I will tear them apart before I let them hurt you.”

Shelter. It is the best way to describe how Connor's arms feel encircling, protective and full of unparalleled affection. Amounts are light at times. A gentle breeze cresting through windowpane and he is that natural airy scent that comes with it.

Others are electrified turning him into that whirlwind that swept his way through DPD. Little did you realize when he first came but then – How naïve is that when first seeing him you felt a thud in your chest? Just his cute little bobs of head while contemplating, brows furrowing, and the proverbial puppy dog look. You knew now how spontaneous it was for him. He never truly knew how well that expression would make someone cave. Honestly, you recall a little incident with him and Hank during one of their early cases. Connor needed more time. There came the puppy dog look of doom. He obviously knows now. There is so much more humanity in him.

You shiver oh so pliable to him. Clay to mold and your body does transform upon each touch. Feeling his unique warmth, innate husk and lips move in a promise against flush skin. Sounds are sweet and real as real as these vows spoken between you. Vows never once expected in your life but with him - oh with him this is beauty. He is beauty, in physicality and soul, in a dark world. Yes a soul because they are mated, entwined in one cradle.

Soul mates, he told you early on he admired the concept. Now he says he breathes it. Your Connor is alive. To hell with anyone who still thinks otherwise. It never mattered that he was an android. Never in your heart and it never will. You just want this to be forever. In Connor's arms eternity blooms colorfully fragrant in his petals caressing even with a murderer stalking the city.

Biting bottom lip at his fingers running in a slippery caress, you inhale sharply. Nestling your back to his firm chest, his body cages around and locks you away from this. It only could.

“Connor.” A quick breath, cherishing his gentleness despite his other violent skill sets, you pull away. Enough to twist around and face him now, eyes train up onto his: a sea of chocolate, steamy coated in luscious caramel. His eyes are burnish hues, loving but also hardened in worry. He wants to kill this Ripper. That you understand. Just from a look both soft in his love but also smoldering. He is forever made to kill.

Connor was originally meant to be Cyberlife’s killing machine and becoming deviant didn’t erase what he’s capable. Instead he became a hero. He freed his people; he-he became a friend, lover.

You swallow now thinking of the Ripper’s agenda. Android-human couples and those two women they were both married to their respective android partners. One of the androids she was murdered too. How easily could this person do that if they too did not have an advantage? Could they be dealing with an android that kills?

Shaking your head you are unable to hide these thoughts twisting in the mind. How can you hide from an advanced boy like him? He reads it easy. He scans always making sure that you’re OK. But when do you get to make sure he is too? Just like when you first met. When he was still trapped?

“How can everything be all right, Connor?” Huffing at him, clear about how messed up this is, you cross arms over chest. “When that fucking maniac came here! They were here, Connor! And we didn’t even know it! What if they’ve been here before? How many other times and we didn’t know?”

Before he even attempts to reach out you move away from the window. Picking up a few digital magazines left sitting on coffee table distracts. You should just clean up some anyway. Not that there’s much to clean. Connor’s pretty pristine that way. Besides the fact he’s an android but it’s not exactly known that he’s messy.

Occasionally clothes will be strewn in extra piles. That’s when you can’t wait. The urge to claw at each other, rip off accessories and… another huff, more intimate as this begins to burn, setting those data pads in a bookcase. A mix of new tech and old physical books nestle together. You study spines of those paper copies seemingly so ancient compared to new technology. Funny how quickly items become so obsolete in a short period of time. Nothing in this can be antiquated. Never these in a moment of pure terror but subtly you sink, twist to look at him.

He cocks his head, lips drooping as his mouth does that crooked thing you love. This time it doesn’t do anything to paint a smile to your face.

“I haven’t been this scared since…” A heavy almost sad breath tinges verbal thought. “When I thought I lost you, Con.” Softer than a feather it falls. Briskly you feel it run down deep to your core. Those memories paint a profound image. Who needs perfect memory when it is one strand in a timeline full of pieces? They all connect. Everything is always connected.

“Jericho. On the news. When they raided, that explosion,” trailing slightly, it is a strong case. Admitting it is too easy because it was the only truth you knew. “I thought you were gone there.”

Shaking your head it’s something discussed before. All of it, everything because opening up was another part of him adapting to his emotions. You never felt so full, so whole until he came into your life. This fear brought it all back. “But that wasn’t anything compared to Cyberlife Tower or-or that fucking program. Trying to take control of you, to hurt you again!”

Tears glisten, cascade in a torrent of ache moved beyond. Surviving all of that to potentially lose what you fought to keep to some maniac – hurts. Watching innocents terrorized, lives taken for who they wish to be with stabs you just as deeply. It is personal because you are like them. You are with him and you squeeze eyes shut. Naturally your body leans into his when he is there.

Quicker than anything he’s always here. As you were for him, reminding each time that he is so worth it. He only ever deserved to be free and happy. Connor is everything in a vast expanse of the world. Your world is much more colorful since him.

“Con.” Breath staggers at his touch. Thumbs rub affectionately against your cheeks. Displacing unwanted, angry tears you shiver at the colder digits of white. The skin of his right hand remains deactivated but feels so right, good against human skin.

Tilting your face into the smooth palm, you slide fingers atop his large hand. Kissing at his thumb, pushing his fingers close for your mouth, a tiny moan creeps up throat as you begin sucking on his index. Swirling tongue between his fingers, leaving a glistening sheen of saliva on smooth plastic, your body presses into his. 

Leaving wet trails over the stark beauty beneath his synthetic palette, you grind hips knowing how it feels without. All over his body, you’ve experienced raw desire as himself. He was worried the first time because he didn’t think it would be comfortable.

Oh but was he wrong. With skin, without skin, he fucks you to the moon and back.

“Connor,” a whisper, pleads for him as he holds you tightly by hips. “I want you. I need this. I need you, Con.” 

Kissing up at his jaw sets his body tense. Moaning that nickname now, you fall into his strong grab. Sliding arms up over his broad shoulders after he slides off and drops jacket to floor, your legs find a way to wrap around his waist. A sharp exhalation slithers past lips when he hoists you up with ease.

Tangling fingers in his hair, lips fuse together as you give into his prodding tongue. Allowing him entry, tasting his otherworldly tang it is intoxicating. His tongue slides, caresses wet and hot metallic. Filling your mouth up with quick darts, sensual flicks, you feel it bubbling. A sweet burn in your stomach is a confessional. To every part of him you demand to be against every part of you.

Connor forces you against the wall. The push is smooth but direct in where he wants you. Still attached to him, legs clench as it hits in a wave. You whimper at the hot pulse. Already needy in a shiver his muscled body rubs up against your softer flesh. 

Digging into the nape of his neck, you drag another hand to savor him. Beneath white buttoned shirt his toned body is a godsend. All it does is warble senses. The haze is thick just as thick as him grinding, straining to free himself. You just fucking want him out of those clothes.

“Connor, yes.”

You encourage his move to remove your shirt, gasping into his mouth at the rip he tears at the fabric. Sucking in a breath you lift arms to get the article off. His mouth is there. Kissing atop exposed skin Connor buries his face into the crook of your neck, his large hands brace against wall. Purposely he keeps you upright with the feral, hungry press of his body. Instantly your head drops back, lips parting to suck in breath at his grinding. 

“Please, fuck me, Con.”

Connor’s groan is a sharp answer. Building up from deep in his chest it unleashes this carnal side. A scalding fire broils in his stomach. He feels every part of you in his deviant skin, shell and all matter in between. Thriving on pleas, digging his wires deep into bones of your vessel, he lifts his head. Hair is a mess. Rebel strand flops greedily for your fingers. Twisting and tugging at his strands, he engulfs lips with his. Muffling pants drawn up his throat and sighs slipping out from you, Connor deepens the kiss.

The android slides tongue slowly mimicking the passionate tango of lovers. Data blinds him momentarily. Tasting what makes up your DNA, sweetened and ethereal; he gasps equally ravenous, hips pressing hard into your groin.

“Love,” he whispers, cupping face to force those lively eyes of yours onto him. The way they light up in a covetous spark.

Warm brown darkens to devour every last piece in return. Begging him to take you in this mess of emotions, stress and anxiety, Connor cannot deny. He never has denied you anything not since he first walked through those DPD doors.

 As much as he strives to hold together, not allow these murders to cripple his levels, he needs this. He needs you. Connor aims to show each time why he became deviant. While he mastered through the first stages of it there are still times of overwhelming battles. You become too upset. He never wants to be the reason you shed tears. Even for his life in danger.

No. You will be happy. He vowed to make it so because you have made him feel this blossom of emotion. That is all he could ask to be accepted despite what he truly is.

Seizing you in a burning gaze, Connor haphazardly unbuttons shirt and rouges shoulders to get the constricting clothing off. A new pile begins. He reaches for your thighs. Squeezing them in a maneuver to unwrap them from his waist, he catches you to steady balance when feet return to the floor.

Tugging buckle loose, Connor pushes jeans down and indelicately kicks shoes from feet. Matching frantic actions to shed every last stitch, he helps in this task as he unbuttons yours, pushing them down past hips and undressing in a complete flux. He follows your exposed form now with hands, skin stitching back over fingers.

“No,” an immediate protest quivers through separated lips. “I want to feel your fingers without.”

Connor swallows. Arousal grows tight. Processing needs, analyzing to satisfy, he will give whatever you want. An act of love bonds you further into each other’s worlds. Existences twine, nurture and build together. He makes love to someone so humanely warm, so alive that the RK800 forgets for a moment that he is a machine. With you he is no longer sent by Cyberlife. Past and won in their favor, Connor always looks to the future with you in his arms. 

The moment he first kissed you surrounded by new fallen snow, crisp winter air the android found his meaning in humanity. With his friend, soul mate, love of life he is a man. Somehow even he can believe that.

Lifting his hand, twisting fingers to draw your eyes, Connor deactivates his skin up elbow. He leans in close. Gliding and gripping with the plastic of his fingers grants him natural, raw possession of you. 

Hoisting you back up to him, bodies plastered together intimately, Connor carries you through apartment. Squeezing eyes shut under the soft moist touch of your lips, he backs blindly into couch. Jolting a bit, his arms tighten their hold.

You simply gasp. Expelling sweet breath into his mouth makes him lightheaded in circuits.

Connor thrusts you against the corridor wall, pinning, writhing together with your form glued to him, limbs wound to tie him to your softer body. He groans in appreciate of how you feel. “I am about to wreck you.”

Growling, tapping into his negotiator side, the one that still drives him in work, the RK800 aggressively bites into your neck. Scraping, licking over teeth marks and Connor sucks at the tender flesh. Nibbling at that sweet spot sends a rush down to his groin. His cock pushes against boxers aching. He aches to be inside of you. No longer can he wait and from those stuttered gasps neither can you.

The bedroom door bursts open in frantic movement. A tangling kiss crashes hard as your bodies drop. Bed creaks beneath the sudden drop of weight; Connor falls sideways to prevent his heavy frame crushing. That would not be romantic in the slightest nor pleasurable.

Pushing you up and back down atop soft coverlet, white and black patterns of trees stitch in quilt. A bright aesthetic decorates this room. Tall sheer curtains cover windows in an off white flutter. Equally soft is the sheer hanging twisted at each point of four poster bed.

Already you’re a mess atop pillows, chest heaving from his ministrations. He relieves tensions, paying attention to the quiver of skin beneath his lips. Kissing along the length of your neck provides him with a moment of calculation. 

Spontaneity is still something he is working on. What can be more spontaneous than fucking you during a serial murderer case? Possibly not the best thing to analyze while preparing to, as he has heard from some colorful people, fuck you senseless.

A torturous glide brings hand down, sticking his bare white fingers into his mouth. He narrows eyes onto you while sucking. Letting you watch while getting rid of his boxers in one shift he moans around his slick digits. A shudder of relief unmakes his sturdy frame as he springs forth. His cock twitches at the sight of you arching upon the bed, licking and biting your lips. 

Resting palms atop each knee separates them. Immediately he lurches forward to give a lick between thighs. Data streams in a nibble on inner thigh, biting hot skin but your jerk of hips stops under his strong hand.

Connor smirks. Knowing your body all too well it’s the quiver in anticipation for him instead of a human man that does things to him. You chose him as much as he chose you. No, he was blessed with this, with you and these sensations.

Leaning atop your supine figure shifts his hair across forehead. A messy chocolate oh how you want to eat him like a Hershey Kiss. Better yet rich Swiss chocolate creamy and smooth as his pale skin shimmers in freckle highlights. His torso is like a bust chiseled out of marble. Artistic and delicious are the adjectives of love. Tonight he is all those things. All of this dies in a fog of lust when his hand thrusts between your thighs.

He rubs, swirls and strokes, eating your moans. He builds a bridge with the rise of your body. The bone of your human structure strengthens to his craftsmanship. As quick as he erects this empire he burns it down in your honor.

Teasing further along, Connor stops to lick the plastic digits clean. He moans at the taste. Hovering above your awaiting, burning body, lithe and muscled, he dips his head to suckle warm skin.

 A symphony of gasps moans, scratching of nails into synthetic skin eggs him on. How he craves your marks. Littering him until healing wipes them away but Connor loves them as much as he loves giving them returning the favor. When he sheds all of his skin and you press kisses all over the white shell of his body; Connor gasps, gripping himself in hand as the fantasy manifesting in his processors produce a leak of precum.

Dots of light blue stain the bed between you. He kneels in front, positioning to slide his cock in sweet friction. Hips grind atop yours searing, pulsating drawing your arousal to its peak. A soft whine is already out of your mouth. Verbally begging him now the impatience is beginning to kill you. Connor readjusts. Sliding the thick head in a tease, he watches your lips separate, parting to release a string of sharp breaths, eyes on his. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip lowering eyes and you follow.

You watch, rubbing against his length with fingers formed in a V, biting lip; haze of sex floods his sensors. Natural perception overtakes every impulse in his hovering frame becoming an archway above your quivering foundation. Witnessing the hungry look on your face but it’s your eyes becoming heady; lids droop in a canopy of need as that beautiful cock snaps to action. He thrusts forward.

“F-fuck.” Connor curses, gripping onto your thighs and holding legs up, yanking you down to fit himself all the way. He cannot go any further, cock twitching in the squeeze of you hugging him in a loving embrace. 

“Y/N...” His head hangs back, pale neck stretched as far as it is functionally able. He remains that way a minute allowing time to adjust but your needy whines bring the android back to life. His current mission is set: fuck you until you cum the way you deserve. The android does just that.

Moving hips, pulling back to slide back out, Connor pivots waist for the next thrust. Rearing up with a deep growl ripping from up his torso, he pulls your legs up to prop them against broad shoulders, snapping hips hard. The gasps slipping up your throat make him shiver in a pleasant glitch. His LED is scarlet, wet gush of flesh sinking, swirling together filling audio processors. And Connor finds himself no longer part of his body. Connected with you, digging nails to hips, scratching and claiming the RK800 transcends being a machine. As he fucks to the rhythmic tune of his and your moans, he is alive in your universe.

“Connor!” Whipping head back to pillows, twisting covers in fingers, your eyes squeeze shut lost in the building ache. Fluttering in the pit of your stomach it grows, spreading fire through extremities. Each thrust fills, bottoming out in his luscious raw power. You are so full of him. God. Please.

Craving how good, thick and beautiful this man’s cock is sends you somewhere else. Yes, a man. He is yours, your sweet, romantic Connor. Balancing out his cool, killer instinct paints him as a complex being. There are two parts two him. Different sides of a coin and tonight he shows his humanity. A single look from those gentle brown eyes makes you feel like you can travel the universe. He ignites as a supernova. For him you burn as a glittering star and he swallows vast, endless in his love. With each snap pushing his hips flush you fall at his mercy pushing to claw up at him. You need to touch him.

“C-Con…”  Oh how sweet that nickname. How fluid it breezes past your lips glistening as tongue swipes across your bottom. Muscles scream out in tiredness, legs going completely lax propped up against his shoulders. The position strains muscles but it’s a sign of raw lovemaking.

Nights can be soft, sweet but others-others are like this. An oncoming storm battering your fragile shelter and Connor is that gale that first blew into the DPD. He is everything made to be perfect, efficient but in your eyes? He wasn’t a mere construct. You fell in love with him for who he truly is. He deserves all that love. After being shunned by society, hurt by some evil master program; you’re happy to see him accepted. Watching him get actual praise for doing his job? No longer seen as a tool but an active member of the DPD? 

It’s a pleasant flutter in your stomach. Connor is one person who deserves everything. Yes, he is person, he is so alive.

Moaning his name, rolling your head lazily atop pillows, you huff as he allows your legs to shift off from his broad shoulders. Falling down against you, chest squished under his, breath stutters at the friction of synthetic skin rubbing against your hot flesh. It’s a sensitive but delicious sensation. Trapped beneath his muscled frame, pale skin a starry painting and each freckle you longs to kiss. Of course you already have.

Exploring him that first time was just as good. It was more than sexual. Every emotion pours from him when he connects with you in the most intimate ways. This is all still new for him but being deviant opens up avenues he originally denied. 

Of course you realize this but each day makes him just a bit more human. What better way than showing, sharing as you consume every part of him as he’s done to every inch of your body. You both know each other like no one else. This never changes. You always come undone, surrendering for him.

The deep glide of his cock forces your back to arch. Planted between thighs now, legs full of needles from his slamming strokes, he rears his body above now, feral and growling. Those inhuman sounds are enough to make you shudder. 

Fuck. That husky snarl!

Immediately you grab onto him. Raising knees up beside his hips, you squeeze them against his body. Nails scratch into his chest as he pushes up now. Blue trails etch under clawing passion. The same motion along his exposed white arm simply scrapes without leaving marks on stark plastic but he shivers all the same. He perceives underneath the epidermis with every sensor going off in his body.

“Connor,” a whimper, eyes hazy, walls clenching down as he fills you all the way again. “I want to see more…of you.” Sharply those breaths invade the room. 

Silhouettes tango in rhythmic shadow, the android arching his back as he fucks you the way he knows you prefer. No one could ever make you howl with such need. No one could fulfill, morph you to complete putty in their hands like Connor.

Everything transforms in his possession. Nothing compares and you know this with each fiber of being.

“Oh, Con…”

Taut, sinewy his muscles ripple in synthetic harmony, body sliding against yours. Blue floods veins pumping consistently at the friction between you both. Connor groans sharply. His eyes lock down onto yours glittering in a wave of sin. An ocean he drowns in but ultimately skims along calm seas.

A gasp spills deliciously up throat. Trembling beneath his frenetic energy is an urgency to have him connect on a deeper level as it paints stars in your eyes. Long fingers interlock through yours. They curl over to clasp atop knuckles his large hand engulfing your own. Pushing your arm down holds it there but still your free fingers trail up against Connor’s back. Following the curve of his spine, digging nails this time, you rake scratching glowing blue in a pattern to his lower back. Finding purchase upon his ass gives a squeeze. Toned perfection that he is drives wild desire.

Encouraging his hard thrusts, sticky flesh melding, sinking his cock, so snug, completely stretching out it draws tears corners of eyes. You bite down trying to stifle the obscene sounds lurching up throat. Yet it’s too late. Each moan every gasp grows louder, catching in your throat and keening in luscious waves. 

How does a body become a tidal pool? A sensual stream of water shifts in a ripple beneath him. How deep does he dive? Enough to submerge into your abyss he sinks to the deepest trench. Dark and hidden it is more when you are together.

Your voice becomes a filthy soundtrack to his husky groans. Listening to him lose control, peeking up through half lidded eyes, it’s the sight of his handsome face twisted in love and lust that builds you to completion. Seeing your Connor shed his collected demeanor and become that fearsome negotiator, unleashing the strength he knows he holds but never would he hurt you.

Even when you want him to just rail you without consequence, craving that internal bruising that leaves you wrecked for days. Connor makes sure there isn’t any lasting damage. You can have hard, rough sex or just slow loving. The options are endless. This is endless.

You want him every which way. He wants you the same. Each time with the RK800 is like the first and he, this beautiful boy you love more than the whole universe always will shatter your resolve. You’ll always want this.

He shares this with you. Never questioning emotions because they are his now. With you he can be himself. Disabling skin, smooth layer disappearing stitch by stitch leaves stark white entwined you’re your human digits. The warmth of you is still tenfold. Even more Connor feels whenever showing his true self. He will only ever show this to you, he only ever has.

The android moans into your lips. Soft and boyish and everything you crave. He gives it willingly. Just as he as craves and needs you, Connor devours those sharp breaths. His lithe frame shudders, grinding hips against yours and it begins driving you crazy how slow he’s going now.

Desire swells up his torso. Fingers produce a soft glow against yours in another bind of this union. It’s hue is beautiful. He is so beautiful: with or without his skin it doesn’t matter. Connor is Connor. He’s the only thing that makes you happy. Why deny that? Why deny something so real even if others view him as not?

Huffing desperately snaps hips up into his to make him move faster. A cry falls so sweet impaling yourself up onto his cock. His is animalistic. Yet, he still gives you his gentle loving side. 

Caressing your cheeks with his thumbs, swiping off those tears of desire, you smile, listless. His return smile makes your heart pound. Even as he fucks you senseless he cocks his head, rebel strand of hair flopping cute and innocent like his expression. Soon it twists again, hungry as he drives himself deep.

“Please,” you beg, cupping his face in your hands. “I’m so close.”

Sensing it already, it doesn’t take you revelation. He knows your body more than you know it yourself. Moaning into his lips as he kisses you deeply, sensual stroke of tongue invading mouth, your kiss is wet, passionate. Your whole body trembles. Feeling his cool thumb rubbing down between the snap of his hips; without skin it’s slippery, sliding and circling in time with the plunge of his cock hitting all of those glorious spots. 

You squeeze legs around his waist, wrapping them, threading ankles together to clench tightly. Arms wind around him to hold on as your body shivers, thighs rippling despite their lock. Beside your head Connor growls viciously, a sharp rip right next to ear.

The fabric fall loosely against your neck tickling but you ignore what your android lover did to your bedding. Instead you fall, in a quaking mess; neck stretched back with head dropping back, crying out his name in that glorious snap that floods vision. Everything becomes a low roar washing away all feeling. Momentarily blinded, eyes shut in your release; the knot finally dissipates as everything floods. 

You gasp at the warm gush. Hot, full and creamy, Connor follows through soon after and he pushes to the hilt a final time keeping himself snug.

The sensation of his cum soaking, spilling every last drop he dribbles out between legs. Always you want him to finish sheathed inside. Needing his cum desperately, leaking out in a beautiful hue of light blue; your lips are moist as you kiss, his cock pulling out slowly.

Heaving in sharp breaths, fingers still attached to his white arms, you watch his head dip down to watch the spill of his artificial seed leak out. A genuine fascination he always gets, eyes alight in that boyish curiosity. He looks so cute it’s melting you on the spot. A big contrast to how dominant he was railing you against your bed.

You stretch fingers up to his chiseled cheekbone and his eyes snap up from studying the delectable mess he made in and around your inner thighs. This time he leans forward into your lips and your arms snake around his neck kissing him just as soft.

A quiet moan gives away Connor's true feelings even after becoming liquid above you body. His inorganic frame melts against yours. Balancing himself with palms flattened to mattress, he squeezes eyes shut to savor the sweetness of your mouth. He groans rougher the deeper it crests mingling with his orgasm. 

Coming down from the shiver of human physicality leaves the android spent of energy. He can easily make love to you multiple times over but he reads the exhaustion. You are content holding on and caressing him both synthetic and his bare plastic.

Focusing on his skin activates the cells in a wind. Covering his arms once again, he cups your face with his fingers just as they return to their human state. He leans to nibble on your bottom lip. Tugging the plump flesh with teeth ends in a smirk. Sharp breaths and thudding heart sends him a beautiful analysis. You are stunning. “I told you I would wreck you, Love.”

Connor's barely there smile is teasing. A natural aesthetic makes his smooth face livelier if only for a brief moment. He leans his cheek into the warmth of you. As you reach up to stroke, trace his cheekbones your heart races. An equal smile if not in its full flavor but loving and gentle from his love thrums deep in chest. His synthetic heart, the thirium pump that regulates his tempo chugs in sync.

“I love you,” he whispers husky beside ear. “No one will hurt you. I won’t let them.” Connor's tone is firm in his determination.

Taking you now to show, to share what keeps him grounded in this life he chose; he needed this as much as you did. A reminder to what you both overcame and no fucking murderer will touch you.

Sensing worry return as you hold onto him, he trails fingers down your side. Rubbing soothing circles against thigh, Connor shifts. This time he straightens up in a seat edge of the bed. His eyes narrow on the shredded pillow. During his loss of control he tore the fabric sheath. He cocks head back to you. His hand folds atop yours where it rubs up his forearm.

He teases next, “I will draw a hot bath for you to soak in. If you so require.”

Caressing flush skin with his thumb he means to keep you occupied from everything. The glow of his LED shifting from calm blue to processing amber shows where his mind is. Deviancy grants him everything he will never want taken from him. It also compromises the android exactly what this Ripper is hoping. Their killer knows more about androids than they realize.

 SEVERAL HOURS LATER

protect while you can droid...

 A flutter blooms, flashing from internal messaging system. Forcing Connor’s eyes to pop open out of a short bout of stasis draws his head up from pillow. His jaw tightens.

Receiving the unexpected transmission leaves a bad taste. If he could readily taste beyond data analysis; his arm shifts from around your waist. Your body nestles beneath coverings in a spooning embrace from his protective caution. Now he breaks out of low power mode with another taunt from their killer.

The android gauges your current status. Breathing softly, finally asleep after a long bath, he soothed whatever worries you had left. They are not completely gone. His stress spikes now. It is enough to protect. He fought to protect during the revolution. Even when he was still machine each thread of instability attached itself to you. You were courageous. Anyone who wishes to risk well being for something not alive is brave beyond a doubt. He is alive. He has you and Hank to thank for that.

Connor untangles from you. Sitting upright, narrowing eyes on open door, his defensive protocols activate. He leaves the bed, quickly striding out of the room.

Lights illuminate the central space of expansive apartment. His steps are bare, determined to check entrance. Calculations suggest their killer will not make another appearance. After the hospital but – can he be sure? 

Listening to percentages is not always the correct answer. If he had listened while chasing the deviant on the roof, Hank may have fallen to his death.

Deactivating security lock, Connor sidesteps through door. Corridor lights illuminate his pale skin, exposed in a state of half undress. Even then he would tear this fucking Ripper apart.

Everything in his system screams out in stress. As the senior deviant detective he is better acquainted with emotions. Threats against those he loves cripple the android’s composure. He already lost his temper at Reed. This investigation must be completed. Before more lose their lives –

Connor reenters, securing your home. He knows that you would like to live in a house. It has been a dream of yours. Ever since opening his eyes he has shared this. His gaze shifts across living room. Falling on curtains covering glass, he inhales unnecessary but inspects quickly. 

Tugging them open, scanning, all he sees is an empty night. The wall is glass pane, an aesthetic you found pleasing allowing natural light inside. All the android can see it as is a weak point.

His head cocks to the side, audio processes picking up click of door. He drops the curtains in place and frowns. “You should be sleeping.” Connor’s eyes snap onto your bare legs, trailing up to the buttoned shirt you hastily put on after bath. One of the android’s shirts - obviously.

Funny that he'd say that. You'll sleep when you’re dead. The idea squirms in stomach. Bad choice of words lately. All of this is just...

Forgetting for a while being completely entwined with him made you feel safe. He only ever made it that way even when he was struggling. It makes you somewhat happy to have this much peace. Can't have too much apparently. Look at these murders, everything falling apart and…

“Well, I woke up cold.” You tease him. Putting on a smile is equal to having a brave face. Slinking over to Connor, you slide a palm flat against his bare chest. Leaning up on toes to meet him closer as he dips his head down, you brush lips sweetly into his. A pair of strong hands clutch at your waist. You huff pleased with his touch and tap tip of a finger against his chin.

“I was waiting for a certain android to turn up his system heat.”

Smiling up at him, a sigh escapes, swallowing after shifting back from him. Pretty obvious what he's up to. Doesn't take a rocket scientist. Being with him might've been blissful but waking up alone like you did, half asleep, you thought something – happened.

Never mind what you thought. He's here. One thing you’ve known ever since they met is he'll always be here. “Con, I know what you're doing.” You slip back and sit down.

Curling up on couch, you idly run a hand against the creamy upholstery. “Don't think you can hide it from me. Think I've had a good grasp of your quirks since the first time I saw you at the DPD. And do you want to know what I thought? That you were the cutest thing. For a badass detective.”

Connor cocks his head with a smirk. “Am I not still 'cute' for you, Love?” Joining your bundled perch it is easy to read. You are deflecting. He understands why. Hiding his actions has become less successful. He only does so to protect, alleviate whatever worries there are. You went through just as much because of this relationship. Falling in love with someone like him but he fell in love equally. There is no one else he will ever want to hold, cherish in his arms. The message from the Ripper only pushes this parameter in his protocol.

Missions are his to own in deviancy. His mission is to serve and protect. Most importantly he will do everything in his power to shield the one he has come to love.

The android swirls his thumb atop exposed skin. Dragging fingertips along your leg, you stretch out, sliding limb to hang over his knee. It draws you in a close cocoon with him. Comforts of home are shattered after the vandal. He knows you are afraid.

“You know what has happened as well as I do. As much as I want to shield you from this I also know how strong you are. You made me see. When my people were hunted down, captured and-and I will fight for you now.” Connor leans close, fingers sliding down your neck, pressing forehead lightly against yours. 

He inhales the scent of you in a sense of feeling. “You caught me, Y/N. I was checking the apartment. My stress levels have been higher.”

Never can he lie. You have opened up so much to each other. You are soul mates in ways that even he could not initially comprehend. Connor bathes in your words, christening him a beautiful soul and the RK800 believes you. He believes in this because it makes him alive with every artificial breath, every synthetic beat of his heart. Nothing will take away what you have built, continue to build together.

“And I have done something I shouldn't have.” Connor confesses his stress. It is strange for him still to admit all of these emotional surges but he owns them. “I lost my temper with Reed. While I should be the one keeping everyone calm, focused. I lost my focus. All of this discourse in the DPD will only make it easier for this murderer.”

Swirling a fingertip along the circumference of his indicator is a sign of acceptance. Oftentimes you brush lips to his temple. Kissing the very android part of him shown outwardly to the world; you slide fingers through his rich coffee strands. 

Massaging his scalp, pecking little kisses all over his face, caressing each mark of beauty he was constructed with. Freckles paint his entire body and make him so uniquely handsome.

“Connor, please don't worry so much about me. If it means raising your stress... You know it scares me when you mention that.” A light laugh breezes past lips despite the confession. Is this you trying to remain calm or at least distracting? It sounds ridiculous that's all. Of anyone Connor can handle anything. He's strong. Always has been but losing him now will utterly destroy. You won't be able to.

“Con,” you whisper, pressing forehead back to his. “I doubt losing your temper with that asshole is the end of the world.” No surprise to you because Gavin has that effect on people. “After what he tried to do to you? Don't you even think you did something wrong. Besides, everyone wants a shot at him at some point.” You smile. Brightly this time but – “What's happening, Connor? Why? This maniac loose in the city. Why would they do this?”

One of your friends is dead. This monster came back to finish the job! That wasn’t all. This murderer has killed androids too. The idea of Connor winding up that way hurts. Cupping his cheek against palm, you lean up, brushing lips in a sweet lock. He's the only one that would ever hold the key. 

“I can't imagine being left alone. I can't imagine anything without you.” Holding it in streams this fear. It shivers right down to the core. Even as Connor pulls you flush against his chest nestled in his strong embrace; he rests his back to couch arm. You shift atop him. Resting in a tangle, cheek pressed beneath his chin and you plant a kiss onto his synthetic skin. 

Nibbling up along the pale column of your lover’s throat, sliding body atop his firm muscled frame props you up to reach his lips. A sigh slips out at his cinched arm hugging tightly.

“I love you, Connor.” Your breath hitches. “I just want to wake up from this.”

“I love you.” Softly he confesses. Just as the first time following his break into deviancy he gives you this. It is what you deserve, what you both deserve. All the love he can muster and Connor craves. He longs, needs you as he needs thirium to power his biocomponents. You are the calm in his storm. A safe harbor for him to rest his weary mechanical bones after grueling days, cases pushes his stress.

Connor is not one to complain. He has adapted easily in this free will, shedding Cyberlife, escaping Amanda via emergency exit. All of it led him back to your arms. Jericho was the moment he knew. Listening to Markus' words made him snap. Everything he said was real. Just as being alive is real and Connor holds you close.

“Shh. Be still, My Heart.” Whispering husky, comforting, he holds no answers to why. Why do murderers terrorize the innocent? In this dark time in Detroit you will never be alone. He made that oath when he first told you his true human feelings.

Twining fingers with yours now draws your ring up for his lips to touch. The gold band on his melds in harmony as fingers engulf in his large grasp. “Sleep, Y/N. You need it for tomorrow.”

Making a choice to stay here, stroking your back, he listens to your breath grow shallow. Connor's eyes shift to ceiling as you fall asleep lying atop him on couch. Guilt flutters in a scarlet blip as he keeps this killer’s message to himself.

Anything to protect and this time you do not need to hear tonight. He simply watches over you.

tag list: @your-taxidermy @tropfenlady @catastrophes-light @justashamwithwastedpotiental @tommy-10-k @dreamyby @etherealcel @clussysposts @queefsofsilence

#connor x reader #dbh connor x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh rk800 x reader #connor rk800 x reader #dbh after dark #after dark offerings #300 followers are since past but here we go #spicy connor is spicy

[false-north]

Stranger Things: Resurrections (bringing back Billy...)

Since the Harringrove fandom has begun to demonstrate an amazing resilience to certain outside forces (thank you fandom <3 <3), I threw together a list of (some) resurrection precedents and possibilities, all “borrowed” from other actual media/TV/film canons adapted and applied to one Billy Hargrove: (Please do feel very free to add, expand, use, WRITEALLTHEFICS, etc. at will).

‘We Can Rebuild Him’: Still stuffed with remnants of the upside-down in his blood stream, the Russians scrape Billy up on their way out and rebuild him. Because alien world super serum goes a long way in building a super soldier (and unlocking more gates).  (Late 80s bonus points if they rebuild him with metal and wire that renders him part crude cyborg). (Re: Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier, Captain America).

Old School Resurrection: Unable to accept that Billy is gone, Max and Eleven tap into the upside-down to bring him back to life. Suddenly re-thrust into his old life that still includes systematic abuse at the hands of his father and the responsibility of facing up to all his past mistakes (including all the lives he took while possessed), Billy’s not exactly grateful to be back. (Hardcore 80s points if they forget to get Billy out of the coffin first, thereby making him have to claw his way up to the surface alla every 80s zombie film). (re: Buffy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer).

Super Powers Save the Day: Another secret child product of the MKUltra style lab experiments, Billy’s powers of cellular regeneration take a minute to repair that much damage, but revivify him in the morgue in a crazy cool special effects scene where he zips back up his body…(Also canonically explaining how a kid who gets shoved around by his father that often manages to still remain unbruised and shirtless as much as he does). (80s bonus points if filmed like a late 80s body horror film). (re: Clair Bennett, Heroes).

Cloning: Having been “impregnated” by the mind flayer (first with the ‘Alien’ face hugger reference, and then with the strange moment of the alien tentacle pushing into his chest…), Billy tries to kill the monster by sacrificing himself. Only the US government isn’t too keen on letting that kind of alien biotechnology go. They scrape up Billy’s body and clone him—a process that maintains the alien DNA that they can then harvest (and making Billy “patient zero” in their new attempts to use human hosts to create more).  Now confined to a laboratory cell, Billy has to fight to regain his own autonomy, not an easy feat when the military-industrial complex has labeled his body as government property. (Meta-Homage bonus points on account of Alien IV being one of Winona Ryder’s films…) (Ellen Ripley, Alien IV: Resurrection).

The Fake Out: Having made enemies of everyone in high school and knowing he’s in danger from both the law and his family (aka Neil), Billy takes the opportunity to fake his death. And yet, he can’t seem to stay away from Hawkins and the people he secretly cares about. (Re: Alison Dilaurentis, Pretty Little Liars).

Stranger Twins: Billy comes back as his brunette twin cousin to move in with the Hargroves and inexplicably looks exactly like him and might actually be him, because Hawkins is a weird dreamscape space (re: Laura Palmer, Twin Peaks)

Conspiracy!: With his body already broken and dying, Billy sacrifices himself to save Eleven, only to turn up (8) years later in a maximum security prison as a pawn in a larger government conspiracy (Cold War 80s bonus points for just being a larger government conspiracy…) (re: Micheal Scofield, Prison Break).

Deal with a “Devil”: Feeling guilty that they couldn’t save him, and unable to comfort Max, Elle uses her astral projection powers to make a deal with the Mindflayer or some other entity in the upside down to bring him back, but like all para-supernatural contracts, “the devil” wants to make a deal…(80s bonus points for really playing up any element of the “Satanic Panic” crisis) (Dean Winchester, Supernatural).

Time Travel: The alien tentacle pushed into his chest created a gateway that sucked his consciousness into the future, creating the dopple!Billy that greeted him in the upside-down, setting off a strange time line of events in which future Billy has to travel back in time to the 1980s to warn of or even jumpstart the Mindflayer takeover, as such a series of events is actually the only way to ultimately defeat it. Sacrificing his past-self to kill the monster, the ‘Billy from the future’ finds himself stuck in 1980s Hawkins, a changed man haunted by the things he’s seen (and the things he will see). Only now that this apocalypse has been averted, the things he can see in the future keep changing, not all of it for the best... (Essentially rendering Billy “The Party’s” Seer.)  (The Terminator (kind of)).

Alien Parasite: Closing The Gate weakens the Mind Flayer, but it doesn’t kill it, leaving the MF trapped inside the body of seventeen year old Billy Hargrove. Now both need the other to continue to survive, and Billy needs to learn to find some kind of harmonious compromise with his other-worldly parasite (Eddie Brock, Venom).  

(More theme-borrowed than direct references:)

(Psychic) Coma: After the events of the mall showdown, Billy is left in a coma with a healing fractured mind. The only problem, his psyche effects the world around him as it processes all its demons. As the gang gets sucked into the weird hellscape of Billy’s internal life made manifest on the streets of Hawkins, they must help him fight all his monsters before his lifetime of aggregate trauma destroys the town.

The War isn’t Yet Won: Billy’s demise was greatly exaggerated. The calvary came in, the ambulances scooped him up, and he’s fine now—physically. But the experience changed him, has left Billy quiet and hollow. He can still feel the mind flayer everywhere, phantom crawling over his skin. There’s only one other person who can even begin to understand—Will Byers. Everyone thinks the two former MF meat puppets are simply suffering from PTSD, but Will and Billy know better. They’ve seen the future; what the Mind Flayer has in store. The two form an unlikely alliance as the only two in town who know the war isn’t over.

(My personal head cannon for Season Four):

Nightmares on small town streets: After the events of season three, the gang starts dreaming: weird twisted nightmares that seem more vivid than the waking world. What’s more, they all meet up in their dreams: Will, Steve, Eleven, Dustin, Nancy, Lucas, Max. etc. who all physically went to sleep in different towns/places, find themselves in a sick simulacrum of Hawkins at night. What’s more, is that when they call each other up the next day, they all remember it: they were there. Soon it becomes clear that this dank space is even more dangerous than they ever could have anticipated. Whatever happens to them in the dream space follows them through to the waking world. And something is after them. They need to figure out how to defeat the shadows, but until they do, there’s only one solution: don’t fall asleep. (Meanwhile, Max and Eleven see Billy in the dream world, seemingly living at the Hargrove’s house and caught in a robotic glitch cycle of abuse at the hands of a nightmarish hybrid of the Mindflayer and his father. They become determined to bring this Billy back with them, unsure if that’s even possible, but Max refuses to leave him there. But waking him up and pulling him out is a much bigger task than they can handle alone. They bring Steve.).

(i.e. I actually do really want a Nightmare on Elm Street season…).

(And really, if all else fails, we saw *one* Billy go down, yes, but what about *second* Billy…?)

#harringrove #billy hargrove #stranger things #fix it #fanfic #bring billy back #winter soldier billy #nightmare on Hawkins street #stranger things 3 spoilers

[timeforelfnonsense]

Mistress Wit

Wyll x Criella

Rating: T 

Ao3

With Patch 3 out now, I decided to make another bg3 oc to romance Wyll! Dafni will still be the main character so to speak of my bg3 writing with Criella serving as a secondary protag & member of the party in Sunshine and Starlight. She and Wyll will also be getting their own little collection with Dafni & Astarion serving a similar role! However, as my writing is pretty ship centered you wouldn't really need to read one to enjoy the other!

                                                     Prologue

Criella brought her hands above her head, fists pounding against the transparent shield that kept her snuggly trapped in the mind flayer pod. If she could just find a weak spot…

Ah-ha!

It was faint but, Criella spotted a hairline fracture in the upper right portion of the glass. Perfect. Her tail dipped into the worn leather bag strapped to her thigh seeking her tinker’s tools. If she could just find her mallet she’d be able to shatter the glass and free herself from her confines. She reached for the top of her head, pulling her goggles over her eyes. With one precise strike, the mallet made contact with the pod’s lid. What had started as a single small fracture now spread across the whole surface in a spiderweb of spits and breaks. Carefully, her fingertips traced the somatic symbol needed to cast a gust cantrip.

“Ventus!” With the command spoken a small tempest broke free of her palms sending shards of glass flying across the clearing.

Her boots hit the ground with a soft thunk, the collateral of her escape crunching beneath her feet. She scanned her surroundings nose wrinkling with repugnance. This was definitely not Waterdeep. She’d crashlanded in some sort of hinterlands located god knows where. She brought her fingertips to her temples rubbing away the tension with little circles. She needed to locate civilization and quickly. It was only a matter of time before the dangerous effects of the tadpole squirming behind her eye would manifest.

She dug around her bag until her hand found its target. A spyglass forged of brass, runes of her creation glowing across the tarnished cylinder. Pushing her googles back up, she pressed the scope to her eye looking out into the forest. Her mind tingled, the Spyglass of Clairvoyance reveling a small settlement nestled in a nearby grove. It was no city of splendor but it was a lead. The only one she had anyway. Perhaps, whoever called the grove home would be able to point her towards the nearest healer if they didn’t have one of their own. Her body ached from the top of her horns to the tip of her tail. Even if they couldn’t see to the parasite they could ease the discomfort of being crammed into a pod had caused.

----------

Criella sat atop a traveler’s chest, her tail flicking idle from side to side. The groves healer had just set out alongside a mercenary band just recently. Meaning her only choice was to doodled among the druids until their Master Halsin returned. She let out a huff of air, blowing away a stray strand of straight, lilac hair from her eyes. If someone were asked to rattle off a list of locations they might find Criella Wit of Waterdeep, a druid’s grove would certainly not have been among them. She’d never been one for nature’s charms. Given the choice between a bustling market or a quiet glen, Criella would have picked the crowded walkways and noisy rabble of the city to the glen every time. At least she was among kin. All around her other Tieflings mulled about weary faced as they set to packing up what little they had. Criella’s gloved fingertips tapped out an anxious rhythm on the side of the chest. Criella knew better than most that right and wrong could be terms with objective definitions. But turning out helpless refugees and children? That was wrong by every definition. She had sat in Zevlor’s quarters discussing the events that lead his people to take refuge among The Oak Father’s servants. They had come from Eturel originally- Collateral damage in the wake of post-Decent xenophobia. People who had once been treasured friends and neighbors became easy scapegoats for the suffering Elturel’s people experienced in the hells. Her grip on the chest tightened. Were it not for the black leather gloves her pointed fingernails would certainly have left a mark on its suede surface. Well, if the druids weren’t going to help she would. She pulled out a well-weathered note pad and nub of charcoal. She could adapt her design for the Protector canon with relative ease. She’d have to find a way to streamline and simplify it given her the groves appalling lack of anything metal. What she wouldn’t do for steel and iron! Perhaps their smith would have some to spare though she doubted it by the state of his forge. “What are you drawing?” a tiny sing-song voice asked. Criella glanced up from her work. A little tiefling girl of no more than 10, was staring owlishly over the edge of her notebook. Criella’s lips quirked, tuning the book so the girl could get a better look at her scribblings. “It’s a diagram of an Eldritch Canon. I’ve made hundreds of the things but today I’m working on one just for you and your friends. To keep you safe.” She explained, tapping the tip of her finger to the sketch, “It’s sort of a… a mechanical cleric! If anyone gets hurt on the road it might be able to help.” “You can make that?” The child whisperer reverently. “I can make anything.” Criella winked, “Just give time and the right tools.” “Could you teach me?” She asked, her lower lip quivering ever so slightly, “I want to be able to make anything! I want to help! I’m not good at fighting or sneaking like the others maybe I’m good at making things!” Criella let out a chime of warm laughter. The little girl’s eyes were full of wonder and optimism despite all she and her kin had endured recently. She’d too had been more interested in tomes and tinkering as a girl. While her peers were swinging sticks and imagining themselves as knights and guardsmen, little Ella would climb the tallest tree in the yard and name it Blackstaff Tower. “Well I can’t teach you how to make everything in just one day but, I can show you a few things.” Criella brought her hand to her lips, sharp teeth tugging the grove from her left hand. With a heartfelt smile she extended her hand to her would-be apprentice, “They call me Misstress Wit of Waterdeep but since we are friends, you can call me Criella.”

Wyll walked the length of the makeshift training ground. Adjusting postures and offering up every word of tender engorgement he knew. The tiefling children had been ecstatic to meet a ‘real-life hero’, bombarding him with sweet, curious questions the moment he stepped through the gate. After such a warm welcome teaching a few sparing lessons while he waited for Halsin to return, was the least he could do. These children had already witnessed more than many noble old men would in their whole lives. They should have been chasing frogs, enjoying their childhoods without fear. Not training for battles they couldn’t win. Despite the cheerless nature of his thoughts, Wyll put on his warmest, bordering on a fatherly grin. “Not bad! Not bad! Now, remember not to keep yourself so open.” He instructed demonstrating his instruction for a little boy with rusty hair, “Like this.” “Keep it up little one. You’ll be a fine warrior one day!” A lovely voice called. The gentle, golden timbre belonged to a statuesque tiefling woman. Wyll’s heart sputtered a bit when her soft silver eyes fell across his face. A dazzling smile on her rose-petal pink lips. Walking beside her was a child- Nalia, the little girl with a missing horn. He’d invited her to spar but she’d only blushed and ran off. “Wyll! I look at what I made!” Nalia shouted dragging the pretty-pink woman along behind her. When she reached the ring she pulled free a small metal gadget no bigger than her palm. The steal contraption glowed with a soft purple light. It’s slivery surface marked with an inscription: Be Brave, scrawled in infernal. “Aren’t you clever!” He said crouching down to admire her handiwork, “What is it?” “It’s an eldritch canon!” She rolled her eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world The woman stifled a giggle, covering her grin with the back of her gloved hand. “Is that safe?” He asked cocking an eyebrow at the smirking beauty. “Yes! think of it as a mechanical cleric, Wyll!” Nalia said winking at her companion, “I’m going to be an artificer just like Mistress Wit!” “That’s right!” Wit nodded, “I think you’ve done enough work for today apprentice. Go on, take the rest of the day off...” As Wit trailed off a strange feeling began to unwind in Wyll's mind. The sights and smells of an unfamiliar harbor city danced across his senses. He could almost feel the sea breeze on his face. He saw a workshop so organized and meticulous it reminded him of his time with The Fist. He felt the uneven surface of cobbles stone under his feet as he tore after a thief, tears stinging at his eyes as the hooded figure mad off with the last project he and a half-drow woman had planned before she left. Lastly the memory of being confined to a pod and dragged to the hells. Wit blinked back at him dazed. Her slender nose wrinkled, her lips turned down in a worried grimace. “We should talk.”

Criella sat across from the Wyll at a shabby picnic table, poking at her gruel with a wooden spoon. The old woman had called it vegetable soup but remind her too much of the oil she used for in some of her machines to be palpable. “Not much for stew eh?” He teased taking a long sip of his bowl, “You haven’t spent much time in the wilds, have you?” “I am I that obvious?” she giggled, “I’m from Waterdeep- I’ve lived there all my life. Not much work out here in the woods for someone in my line of work.” Wyll tilted his head, bringing his chin to rest along the top of his knuckles, “Oh? And what is your line of work Wit?” He hadn’t heard of her? How strange. She was something of an arcane darling back home. If you asked someone where to inspired spellwork or magical mending. If they had any sense they would give you one answer: Wit and Wander. Well- Just Wit since Zoria had left for Neverwinter with her new wife…. “I’m many things; wizard, artificer, genius. Take your pick.” Wyll chuckled raising his tankard in approval of her assuredness, “Impressive.” “And what about you Wyll?” She said playfully, “Let me guess? You are a soldier. Mercenary? No, you are too upstanding to be a sellsword.” “They call me the Blade of the Frontiers.” He stated with a proud nod before continuing “Monster hunter. Hero. Protector of the common folk.” “The Blade of Frontiers? Now that’s a name!” She whistled, “And I thought Misstess Wit was a clever epithet! Now tell me Blade- How did you find yourself aboard the nautiloid?” Before he could respond the sound of a war horn rang out across the grove. Zevlor sprinting past them as shouting about a goblin siege at the front gate. Both adventures sprung to their feet as panic spread among the refugees. “Alright Blade.” Criella purred pulling her storm canon from the holster at her hip, “Let see if you live up to the legend.”

#bg3 oc #Wyll #elf writes #bg3 early access #Criella Wit

[ev--writes]

Master wip Intro Post (I’m so sorry lol)

I mentioned in my last post that I had notes for upwards of 15 projects in a ton of different formats (side note to myself:whyyyy). Ergo, I thought it would be helpful to do a short overview of all of them, as I’ll probably be doing update posts for all of these at some point.

Also: Thank you for 6 followers already??? I honestly didn’t think anyone would see my last post (especially as I had no idea how tags worked until after I posted it).

Novels

GRACE

“After the sudden death of her childhood best friend and crush Vicky, Robin is invited to spend the summer with her estranged father, his new husband, and her half-sister at their Maine cabin. As her relationships with her father’s family and a fellow vacationing teen Claire grow, her relationships with her remaining friends and mother back home begin to fracture.”  

Oh boy does this book have a backstory.It’s a little complicated to get into right now (I’ll talk about it in my post for this wip), but I got the idea for the original version of this book in April 2016, and it’s been through three major overhauls since then. I’ve done enough planning to start drafting the newest version, but I’m waiting to get a few mostly-complete projects done before I jump in. 

Attic (working title)

“The discovery of a dead body in the attic of Theo’s new house puts a damper on his fresh start. When a singular death becomes a series, Theo and his new friends decide to investigate and discover that the explanation isn’t able to be explained.”

This story also has a long history. I wrote this for NaNoWriMo 2017, overhauled it for NaNoWriMo 2019, and overhauled it again in the middle of that month. I’m currently stuck with a certain aspect, so I’ve put it to the side for the moment.  

Pinewood Guild

“A group of scholarship students at an elite private boarding school obsess over the seemingly unexplainable death of a fellow student.”

This is very much a baby idea, from April of this year. I was having a grand old time writing a different project Three Can Keep a Secret (which I’ll get to later), and I wanted to write another book about terrible people being horrible to each other. I don’t have very many plans for this book at the moment. 

Blood in the Water

“Paul returns to his hometown for the first time since high school to attend the funeral of his brother when he starts to receive anonymous letters. What starts as innocent and quirky quickly turns dark and potentially deadly”

I got this idea in February of this year, as I wanted to write a novel with the letter format. I was supposed to start this project as my “I’m Leaving Highschool Emotional Support Book”, but I’m not sure if I’m going to actually do that.

The Lion Tattoo

“Jordan bonds with classmate Cade over their shared foster care status. As Jordan starts to spend more and more time with Cade, they see a darker side to the boy. When one of Cade’s adventures ends with them sent off to different foster homes, Jordan must turn their life around.”

This is a very old idea that I honestly forgot about. However, there’s still a lot I want to explore with this story, so I’ll probably get to it someday.  

Anthologies

Sunny

“August ‘Sunny’ finally gets engaged to her long-time girlfriend Tatsu, sending her back to the beginnings of their relationship as camp counselors.”

This is a short set of vignettes I wrote as a birthday present to a friend. As it was just for shiggles, it’s not my most sophisticated story, but I’m okay with it. You can actually read this on my Wattpad if you’d like (I’ll add a link here when I figure out how to do that). I also adapted it as a short film because I was bored, if I’m being honest. 

Hypocrite

This is my poetry collection! Some of these poems are based on real life experiences (for example, the poem I named the collection after was based on a friendship that exploded), and others are completely fiction. This might just be my favorite project I’m working on, if I’m being honest. 

Short Story Collection

I can’t title this wip for the life of me, so the name is relatively self explanatory. I’ve written four stories for this so far, and I have three brewing in the notes app.

Safety Orange

“When an accident kills her father and sends her mother into a coma, Angie and her brother Oliver are sent to live with their Aunt Marie. Romance should be the last thing on her mind when a local barista Natalie catches her eye.”

This was my “Quarantine Emotional Support Book”. I had two simultaneous itches--to write something cute and fluffy, and to try out prose poetry. These two ideas birthed this story. I want to get a printed copy for me and my mom, but I don’t have any plans for it after that. 

Three Can Keep a Secret

 “Hattie, her girlfriend Regan, and her best friend Vincent return from a weekend camping trip to discover their town has been ravaged by the undead. Sophie and her brother Joseph are driven from the military’s safety by a tragic accident. Aspen discovers something wrong with her younger sister Paris that might prove more difficult to handle than the walking bodies around every corner.”

This was my other “Quarantine Emotional Support Book”, written for Camp NaNo 2020. It’s technically a short story collection, although I structured the stories with chapters. I also enjoyed the little flash pieces that appeared in-between each story. Like Safety Orange, I want to get a printed copy of this book, but I don’t think I’ll seek publication for it. 

Screen

Horror Web Series

“Outcast sisters Heaven and Eden make a new friend--one that gives them special abilities. While Eden is more timid about her powers, Heaven is almost too excited and drags her sister along on her quest for revenge.”

This is another one of my projects that I just Cannot Title.The description makes it sound kind of lighthearted, but it’s one of the darkest ideas that I’ve come up with. Right now it’s outlined on my phone, and really all I need to do is dedicate a day to pounding it out. 

Video Games

I’m Sorry This Happened

“Archer’s attempts to cheer up her girlfriend Helena accidentally awakens Sylvia, a playfully violent ghost who convinces the girls to get revenge on the two boys that caused her death almost half a century ago.”

This is a visual novel my sister and I are teaming up with to create. We’re still not sure whether we’re going to publish it, but nevertheless I’m having a grand old time writing it, and I guess that’s what really matters. 

Swanhill Convenience 

“A misfit crew of the local gas station convenience store have a strong customer base. When new employee Pearl becomes suspicious of the group, the whole town’s careful facade crumbles.”

This one needs...more time to brew. There’s a lot of basic details that I’m having trouble making solid decisions on (for example, whether the store is a coffee shop or a convenience store), so this will probably have to sit until I have an epiphany or something. 

[I can’t put the working title here because it’s a blatant spoiler]

“You should not have gone into the forest. Now escape, however you can.”

I debated whether to put this on the list because it’s so hard to talk about without ruining the whole thing. It’s a puzzle solving game that I think has some really interesting lore that I can incorporate. I think that’s literally all I can say lol. 

Wow, that post was LONG. Thank you for reading all the way through! Each of these projects will get dedicated post when I start working on them more frequently. Moral of the story: I have absolutely no self control when it comes to starting projects. 

Note: Any photograph used that I did not take myself came from Unsplash.

See you around,

-Ev

#writing #writers on tumblr #writblr #wip wednesday #wip #intro post #wip intro #novel #visual novel #poetry #short story

[wwwafflewrites]

Imagine Meeting the Winchesters in the Apocalypse

It had been days since you'd seen a real person.

You had holed yourself away in an old home, a few miles from where you used to live. You would peer out at the landscape, letting your imagination create dystopian pictures over the silent empty roads and overgrown grass. You hardly dared to leave, only when you were in desperate need of restock on supplies.

You were actually debating on going out today. The sun was strong and the sky was clear, and there were no signs of the zombie-like creatures being anywhere near this side of the country. You had checked everything twice. You had to be thorough when your life was on the line.

You had placed all your necessities in your drawstring bag, prepared to hike over to the nearest plot, a humble farm which hopefully still had some resources left, if hunters hadn't already wiped the place clean.

Hunters, you'd called them, were scarier than the zombies. They would pick a place clean, knives and guns at their sides, and move on to the next house. You had come across two parties of them, so far. The first set hadn't been very friendly, and you had nearly died to someone eager to shoot you. Luckily, they missed.

You had been more careful with the second group, hiding behind a convenient pine tree until they had satisfied themselves. You had been collecting mostly edible apples just a few meters away, and you don't know what you would have done if you had been in the house at the time. What if they had seen you?

You were fine as you were. It was a little lonely, but the solitude was better than constant anxiety over friends and family. Here, you were watching out for yourself and no one else. It helped you clear your mind. You really hoped to never see anyone again. It was a useless wish.

Exactly two weeks after your incident with the first group of hunters (you had been tracking days on a calendar, afraid of losing your sense of time), and nine days since the other sighting, your heart leapt in your throat. A pair, two men, both burly and muscular, and oh god they could kill me with one blow— were walking up the driveway and to the front door.

You could hear them: not what they were saying, but the muffled sound of them talking. The only slightly short man—he's still like six foot, god help me—was going on about something in a subtle southern accent.

Your heart was galloping right then. You were two stories up, had seen them through the window of the bedroom, and you were now debating on taking a brave leap out the window. If you didn't, there was no doubt they would find you. Even the best hiding spots were searched carefully by hunters. It was this and take the chance of a broken ankle, worst case a broken neck, or take the chance that these men weren't all that bad and risk a potentially fatal confrontation. Neither options were very attractive.

You steeled yourself. The window jump was more predictable, and you could estimate the overall damage you would take from this height. Below the window was mostly concrete, but if you could just maneuver yourself off to the right a little, it was possible that you could hit the overgrown grass with little injury.

First step, open the window. You did so, with shaky hands, the wind calmly breathing on your face. You could hear them downstairs—okay, okay, okay, just get out a little bit— you climbed out, leg first, clutching onto the steep roof with what little it provided you. Your stomach clenched as you eyed the ground below. You inched your way to the right a bit, straining to hold on and not fall just yet—

The bedroom door opened and you panicked, your feet digging in while your hands released and scrambled at the side for another grip, clawing like a rabid animal at the shingling.

A hand, not your hand, a strong hand, shot out the window and seized your arm. But a voice spoke through your panicked haze, "Hey, hey, you're alright. Easy, easy. It's okay." His voice calmed at your fluttering heart, like a break on a speeding car. His other hand reached out to grab you, keeping you steady against the side of the building. "Alright, now reach your leg through. Yeah, y—just like that. It's okay, you're not going to fall, I've got you."

Your breathing was erratic, reliving your terrifying experiences with past hunters.

The man directed you back in through the window until you were fully inside, where you sort of collapsed into his arms. He didn't complain, he just held you as you suffered through one of the worst panic attacks you'd ever had. Eventually, he sat you down on the bed, and you were faintly aware of his companion, probably his brother now that you thought of it, was watching the interaction silently from the doorway.

The man who had saved you from a poor escape attempt was watching you a space away, his eyes concerned and round. His hair was long and soft, and you had felt it brush against your arms as he had pulled you in. Distraction was a practice you often found useful nowadays when you battled anxiety.

You hadn't had anxiety before this… this apocalypse, you supposed, but times had changed. You had to adjust, understand your environment, and most importantly, understand yourself. It meant researching at the nearest library on anxiety disorders and how to manage them (and also grabbing several books on survival and tossing them into your drawstring). You guessed it was fair; people often got disorders from traumatic experiences, and with your past pretty-vanilla lifestyle, this dramatic change was no short of traumatic to you. You had to learn how to adapt to everything because everything was out to kill you.

Except these guys, apparently.

The hand that had probably saved you from a broken leg or worse was still planted on your shoulder, and you tried to remember that. You were safe, or at least at the moment.

You didn't know how long it had taken you to calm down after that, but you were impressed with their patience. The attack left you exhausted, which set deep into your bones and throughout the rest of your body. Suddenly the bed seemed very welcoming. You didn't let it show, though.

Finally, you broke the uneasy tension (your tension, but tension nonetheless; they seemed pretty calm about all this, though maybe a little concerned for your sake), "What's your name?" You decided to start off light.

"Sam."

"Dean," said the one at the doorway.

You stated your name and then sighed. "I haven't seen a real person in days."

Sam's eyebrow quirked, showing his confusion but not unkindly. "Real person?"

"Not a zombie."

"Ah," he answered. He took this pause to look back at his brother (or, at least you assumed), and they shared this knowing look.

You risked a question. "Have… you two seen anyone else? I mean… real people? It's been really quiet. I'm used to it so… quiet."

This time, the other man spoke up. "Nah. We actually haven't seen anyone besides you yet. We've been on the road for a while. Mostly silent. We think the virus is… um… done."

"Done?"

Sam was wary as he answered, "Well, the virus, uh— well, it…"

You gave them a look. "Can you not tiptoe? You obviously know more than I do. And whatever you tell me, I'm bound to believe you. We're in the freaking apocalypse, I don't think much is out of the question anymore."

Still, they sent you dubious looks.

"You could tell me it was unicorns and I'll trust your word. You probably saved me from a bad few fractures—"

"Oh, trust me, that fall would have more than fractured—" Dean cut in.

You glared at him to shut up. "I just want something to blame for screwing up my life."

Sam was hesitant, but he nodded. "It's a demonic virus. This one seems to have lasted a lot longer than… well, previous experience, but eventually all the Croatoans just… they just disappear."

You blinked, surprised but believing. "Huh," you breathed. Not what you were expecting, but you accepted it. It was better than anything you had dreamed up.

"Yeah," Dean huffed, scratched his head. "Pretty fricked up."

Sam stood, gave you some space. It was appreciated, but you wouldn't lie, their presence was nice. They were kind and gentle, everything you hadn't expected the two large men to be.

Later, you drifted to sleep with the rumble of the Impala and their muted conversations in your ears.

#dean winchester #sam x reader #sam x you #sam winchester #chevy impala #croatoan #apocalypse #x reader #reader insert #reader #supernatural fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #first meeting