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mymelodyheart · 3 years

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All I Want For Christmas Is You Chapter 7 ~The Holiday Feeling~

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WARNING: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT

Previously in Christmas Treats ...

After Annalise had left for a night out of bowling and dinner with Willie, she'd put on her new pyjamas, a long coat so no one in the street would notice what she was wearing underneath when she walked to Jamie's cottage and a pair of Ugg boots. All the while, her stomach did a mad flip-flopped, and she continually found herself staring into space, almost tripping on the way to Jamie's house.

Obviously, she hadn't finished staring into space because when Jamie opened the door after she'd knocked, sending her hurtling back to the present, she was speechless. Rollo dashed out of the house and circled her happily, jumping on her.

Jamie grinned and opened the door wider. "Sassenach! Get in here! We have a guest."

"Oh!?" I thought we're alone.

She pulled the coat tighter and patted Rollo's head. She remembered Annalise's word not to brace herself too hard, took a deep breath, relaxed and stepped into Jamie's house.

What she saw next, took her by surprise.

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"Oh, it's alive. I thought it's a toy. What's that?" Claire asked as she stepped into the cottage and saw movement in the shoebox on the floor. Rollo flopped himself down beside it like he was the keeper and protector. "Is this the guest you're talking about?"

"One of them." Grinning, Jamie shut the door and followed her gaze. "Can't ye tell what's in the box? Harry found the poor wee thing mewling under the bushes in the park. It cannae be more than a week old. Probably wandered away from the litter and got lost. It's good Harry found her when he did. I dinnae think it would have survived tonight in this cold."

"It's a kitten!" Placing the paper bags she had on the rug, she got on her knees, picked up the ball of grey fur and held it against her chest. Half of its body was cocooned into a red child's sock, and its tiny head had a comical covering. "Goodness, it's even got a hat with earholes. I've never seen anything like this."

Jamie beamed. "Not my doing. Harry brought it all bundled up like that already."

"Who's Harry? Another sibling?" she asked, nuzzling her face into the tiny furry body before carefully depositing it back into the shoebox.

Ach, Harry! He was here a minute ago. "No. A mate. He's here somewhere. I invited him to stay for dinner. Give me a sec." He'd been distracted by Claire's arrival, he'd forgotten all about his unexpected visitor.

Jamie left Claire in the living area and went to look for his friend. When he felt a draft of cold air, he went into the kitchen thinking Harry probably went to have a peek at his back garden.

He poked his head out the back door. "Harry!" he called out. There was no answer. Where the bloody hell has he disappeared to?

All throughout the day he'd been looking forward to tonight after he'd spent the afternoon putting up a Christmas tree he'd bought at a tree farm and decorating it with ornaments belonging to his grandmother from his mother's side. And of all days, Harry had to drop by. Not that Jamie wasn't glad to see him, but the timing was terrible as spending some alone time with Claire was on top of his agenda. Nevertheless, he'd invited the Englishman to stay for dinner. But where the hell is he?

He scoured the yard, but he couldn't find Harry. Suddenly feeling the cold, he slipped back into the kitchen to check the pot roast. It was already ready after he'd left it in a slow cooker to cook all day.

Earlier this morning, after he'd dropped by at Claire's B&B cottage and kissed her, it had been a mammoth task to leaving her side, so he'd kept himself busy all day to make time go by faster. It was becoming apparent spending time away from her was starting to feel like the tension on a bungee cord. The longer the time they spent apart, the greater the urge to see her. And the line felt like it was getting shorter, like his threshold for not being with her was diminishing. If Harry was joining them for dinner, he hoped he wouldn't stay too long after dessert.

"Jamie?"

He glanced up to find Claire holding up a bottle of red wine.

"I splurged a bit. I hope this bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon will go with whatever you're cooking?"

Perfect! Putting the teatowel down, he grinned and approached her.

"It's a classic," he said, taking the bottle from her hand and putting it on the counter. He pulled her into his arms and brushed his lips against hers. "I'm sorry Sassenach, I havenae given ye a proper greeting."

She smiled against his mouth. "Where's your friend?" she asked when he was done kissing her.

He pulled away and ran a hand through his hair. "God knows! He probably left. Harry does that all the time. I've invited him to Lallybroch for tea countless of times, but he’s always refused. I guess he's just not a people person." Jamie decided not to worry about it. "Hungry?"

"Very." She glanced past his shoulder. "What are we having?"

"Pot roast."

"Hmmm, nice. Smells heavenly. Need help?"

"No, I have everything under control. Want something to drink?" Jamie asked, taking out wine glasses, plates and cutleries.

"Not just yet. I had a cuppa before I left the cottage." She smiled at him. "I love your home, especially that fireplace. Is it original?"

He checked the roasted root vegetables in the oven for doneness and shoved them back in again. "Aye, it's an original. This is a crofter's cottage from the eighteenth century, and I've salvaged most of the original fixtures and fittings."

"Love the Christmas tree too. Did you put it up today?" she asked glancing around the kitchen, peering out of the window and touching his collection of fridge magnets.

"Aye, I did."

"Those antique Christmas ornaments are stunning and much better than those plastic baubles you get in shops. I have a few antique ornaments myself. Just too bad, our London flat is not big enough to accommodate a proper Christmas tree." She lifted the lid off the slow cooker and took a whiff. "Mmm, this smells lovely."

He straightened and glanced at what she was wearing. "Sassenach?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why are ye still wearing yer coat? Are ye cold? I thought I put enough wood in the fire."

She grinned. "Oh, this. It's a surprise. Hang on a minute." She turned her back to him, and he waited with anticipation, watching her movements of undoing her coat. If she was wearing a negligee under that coat, he knew he would have a heart attack, and dinner would definitely be put on hold if not cancelled. But he rubbished his thoughts immediately, knowing she wasn't that type of lass. "Close your eyes!" she instructed, and he did.

"Ye're killing me."

"Patience!"

"Are ye naked under yer coat?" he teased.

"You wish!"

He heard rustling followed by footsteps.

"Right, you can open them now."

He slowly opened his eyes, and his gaze immediately landed on the front of her top. It was a Rudolph the Reindeer's face applique complete with a protruding shiny big nose. She was a bundle of red, wearing red fleece pyjamas with plaid bottoms, and her feet were covered in thick, red woollen socks. He laughed out loud.

"Wait for this. You haven't seen anything yet." Claire fiddled with something from under the hem and pulled the reindeer antler's hood from behind. The reindeer's nose on her front lit up, and the antlers stood lopsided on her head. The hoodie was far too big for her, and it hid one eye. "Ho, ho, ho!" she intonated in a low voice.

He chuckled and pulled her against him. "Ho, ho, ho, indeed. Where did ye get this? This is something for Christmas morning. It's almost as ridiculous as the Christmas jumpers."

"I know, right? As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to get it. Bought it today in Inverness. I thought since we've been doing all sort of Christmassy things together, I'd stick with the theme."

"That red nose is not going to keep flashing like that the whole evening, will it? It's very distracting."

She pressed something from under the top. "Nope. The show's over."

He arched an eyebrow and decided to tease her. "Really? What's underneath that top?"

She blushed, but the smile never left her face. "A hungry tummy."

"Brilliant! Shall we eat then?"

"Sure! I'll help set up the table."

Claire rattled off the things she did with Annalise that day. He was glad her friend had agreed to stay until Three Kings which would buy him more time getting to know Claire better. Jamie didn't want to think of the day when she would go back to London, even though it had been lurking all day at the back of his mind. Watching her work beside him in the kitchen, he was glad she felt comfortable and right at home. He wanted to make good memories with her just in case this was all they would ever have.

They served dinner like they'd been doing it together for years, pouring red wine, plating food he'd prepared and chatting the entire time. They sat opposite each other so Jamie could see every blush, expression and emotion that crossed her face, appreciating the fact she had an appetite, a sense of humour and took a keen interest in his work, life and Broch Mordha. He might have sounded a tad bit like a salesman trying to sell a lifestyle in a remote Highland village, and if she noticed, she didn't give any hints.

When they touched the delicate subject of his PTSD, he realised it was easier to talk about it this time. Claire spoke with refreshing candour, even suggesting alternative healing such as meditation and acupuncture, which he liked and made a mental note to look into it.

Throughout their meal, Claire spoke of her childhood, and in exchange, he talked about his family. From time to time, he would reach out to squeeze her hand so he could see the blush blooming on her cheeks or kiss her, to see the shy smile spreading across her face. Every second with her was a pleasant discovery, and he knew what a lucky bastard he was. How she was without a boyfriend was beyond him but thankful that she didn't have one.

After dinner, they cleared the table and did the dishes. And when Jamie took out Rollo for a short exercise, Claire fed the kitten with a wee bottle Harry had left him.

They took their coffee, a box of chocolate Claire loved, and the unfinished bottle of red wine into the living room. As Jamie put another log into the fire, Rollo curled up next to Claire. It was quite apparent, he wasn't the only one smitten. Smiling, he plopped down next to her and turned on the TV to watch Home Alone.

..........

When the film credits started rolling in the end, Jamie turned off the volume and stretched. He glanced over to Claire just in time to see her unwrapping a Ferrero Rocher chocolate. When she realised he was looking at her, she offered him the already unwrapped sweet.

He shook his head and smiled. "So, what do ye want to do?"

The room filled with silence as she exaggeratedly contemplated, tapping her chin and scrunching her nose while rolling the chocolate in her mouth.

His eyes dropped to the delicate lines of her jaw. The smooth, pale skin of her neck and the movement of her throat as she swallowed wreaked havoc with his concentration. He had a very vivid image of what they could do, and they involved running his tongue along the neckline of that ridiculous pyjama top. Since that option would probably send her running out the door, he quickly dismissed the idea. "More movies?" he suggested.

"No. Had enough. Do you know how to play poker?"

"Do I know how to play poker?" He laughed out loud. "I'm a master at the game."

Her eyes lit up. "You have a deck of cards?"

"Aye, I will go and get them." He got up from the sofa and headed towards a desk in the corner of the room. "Always love a game of poker."

"Oh, good. I haven't played for ages."

"What do we play for?"

She cleared the coffee table and crossed her legs. "We'll play for pennies, how about that?"

"I dinnae think I have any loose change."

"We'll think of something else. I'm dealing."

He handed her the deck of cards, put on some classic Christmas song, and then refilled their glasses. He sat beside her and watched with amazement as her fingers expertly flew through the cards with ease, shuffling with lightning speed. While concentrating on his hand, he wondered where she learned how to deal and surmised probably her uncle, the same man who taught her to play pool.

"Alright, here we go, dealer's choice. Five-card stud, ante up."

He glanced up at her. "Wait! We havenae decided what we're playing for."

"Oh, I forgot. You said you don't have any loose change."

"Maybe we ought to play for the family jewels."

She slapped him on the thigh. "Ha-ha! You funny man!"

His lips twitched. "Weel, any ideas?"

"Can't think of one at the moment."

"Wait a minute ...I have a verra interesting one."

Claire glared at him. "If you're thinking of strip poker, forget it."

He laughed out loud. "No, I didnae mean that. Although I wouldnae mind that." When she arched an eyebrow at him, he grinned. "I meant we'll play for favours."

She bit her lower lip. "Favours? What kind of favours?" she asked suspiciously.

"The first to win three hands gets a free favour from the other. It can be used at any time, like a voucher per se."

Her face suddenly became animated. "Can you use the favour for anything? How about the rules?"

He grinned. "Nae rules and ye can redeem yer favours on anything. Anything at all."

The challenge lured her in like a true gambler following the scent of a big stake. "Very well then, we're playing for favours."

He smothered the jubilant smile threatening to surface and quickly fixed his expression into poker-face, almost licking his lips with glee when she'd agreed.

She dealt, and he almost pumped his fist in the air at the obvious outcome, but he remained silent, watching her replace one of her cards.

After a while, he laid down his cards. "Flush."

"Cool. Two queens. Your deal." Her expression remained inscrutable. God, her poker face is good!

Jamie had to give her credit for keeping her emotions under control. Whoever taught her to play, taught her well and if it wasn't for his past experience, he felt in his guts she'd be one hell of a player to beat. Next, she threw down a pair of aces and yielded gracefully to his three twos.

"Alright, one more hand to go," he announced, subduing the mirth in his voice.

"My deal. I can count, ye ken," she said, imitating his accent. He kept his face impassive as he watched her dainty fingers flitting over the cards. "Care to share where you learn how to play poker?"

He inspected his hand casually. "Played a lot with my unit during my SAS days. Beats sitting around and twiddling my thumbs during long intervals."

"My uncle taught me," she shared. "As well as backgammon and chess."

He threw in a card and replaced it. "I have backgammon and chessboards if ye feel like playing for another time. I'm quite good at both games, in case ye're up for a challenge."

She let out an unladylike snort when she laid down her cards, displaying straight as victory gleamed in her eyes.

Jamie almost felt sorry for her. Not quite but almost.

He whistled low and shook his head. "Good hand." This time he allowed himself to smile. "But, sorry lass, it's no' good enough." He threw his cards down, showing four aces and then cockily stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on the sofa. "Nice game, though."

She gasped and looked at him with those beautiful golden orbs. "Jamie, the probabilities of four aces in five-card stud are ..." Her eyes widened. "Oh my word, you didn't!"

"What?"

"Why you cheeky sod ..."

"What, Sassenach?"

"Don't Sassenach me. You cheated!"

"No!"

"Yes, you did!"

He shook his head in feigned horror and tried to look offended. "Och, how could ye think that? Surely not! I ken ye're verra good at it, but this is all on luck."

Her pretty eyebrows slammed together. "No way you can get those four aces unless you palmed the cards. Admit it, because I was thinking of doing it myself, but I refrained from doing so!"

"Don't ye think yer accusation is a tad bit harsh?"

"Jamie, you cheated! I know you did. I can't believe you cheated on our date night. Oh, my God! How could you?"

"I did no such thing."

"Jamie!"

"No cheating occurred, Sassenach." He straightened up from his sitting position and smiled. "Now about that favour I won ..." But his voice trailed off when she abruptly stood up and placed her hands on her hips. "Sassenach?"

"You cheat!" Without warning, she propelled herself over the coffee table and into his arms. Air whooshed out of him as she toppled him back onto the sofa and slipped a hand under the sleeves of his sweatshirt, looking for the suspected hidden cards. Jamie grunted as the full weight of Claire landed on him, her intent on finding proof of foul play resolute. He attempted to regain his balance, but she shifted her attention somewhere else, making him fall back again. When her hands slipped into his pants pocket, he realised if she delved any deeper, she wouldn't come up empty-handed. Ah, sweet Jesus! With no other options, he flipped her onto her back and pinned both hands above her head.

The tie holding her hair somehow became undone during the struggle, causing her chocolate brown curls to spring forth and tumble down, and a few unruly locks to settle on her face. Jamie stared at the snapping golden eyes peeking between the strands, filled with determination despite his more considerable strength. Her chest heaved against her ridiculous top, the appliquéd Rudolf the reindeer staring mockingly at him. Without meaning to, his weight forced her thighs apart, and he wondered if she was aware of both their predicament. Or at least his.

Jamie knew he would be in deep trouble if he remained where he was, as she continued to wriggle under him.

"I know you're hiding the cards somewhere. I wasn't born yesterday, you know! Admit you cheated and I will forget this ever happened."

"Will ye keep still, Sassenach" he muttered. "Ye're torturing me."

She stuck out her bottom lip and blew a hard breath, the wayward curl lifting and blowing sideways, clearing her line of sight. "That's your conscience doing that. Did you know there's a special place in hell for cheaters?"

He muttered a curse under his breath. "Don't ye ever think of the repercussion to yer actions? Ye cannae just tackle a man like that."

"Oh? What are you going to do about it? Tell Santa to put me on his naughty list?"

Her body suddenly started to shake when she burst into fits of laughter at her own words, causing the heat in his groin to surge through his body like a wildfire gone out of control. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck! His blood buzzed in his head like a swarming fog, and even though he tried to shift all his thoughts on the fat man sliding down the chimney and getting stuck halfway, all he could only think of was the soft body beneath him. He tried not to breathe and held his body in a tight muscle lock and prayed Claire wouldn't make any more sudden big movements; otherwise, he was going to explode like a schoolboy and look like a glaikit idiot.

But when the realisation of his plight swiftly dawned on her, her mouth formed a comical O, and her face turned bright red, her previous intent on extracting a confession of his cheating, dissipating.

"Jamie?" Her voice was husky.

He swallowed hard and ignored the fact he had a big fat boner wedged between them. "Did I hurt ye? Didnae mean to be so rough."

"No. I'm fine."

"Are ye sure?"

She smiled, and he inhaled deeply to regain his composure. She smelled like shampoo and flowers and just a hint of fruit flavoured lollies, and he could just about see the pulse palpitating on her neck. Their position made his erection harder, and the way she was looking at him wasn't helping at all.

"You're a big lad," she gulped.

Ah, shite! "And ye're not helping," he said hoarsely, tamping down a groan.

"Shall I go?"

"No!" He took a deep breath and forced a smile. "Just be still for a moment, aye?"

"Alright."

They laid still for a while looking at each other.

Carefully, he let go of her wrists above her head and stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I can stare at ye like this for hours and never tire of it," he whispered. She smiled, and he kissed the smooth line of her jaw. When she tilted her head back, his lips trailed down of their own accord, bowing his body over hers as he worked his way to the side of her neck.

Hard as he was, he didn't move against her. He wanted her to feel safe and everything to be on her terms, letting her know this attraction went beyond sex. He held on to his control with a mental vice grip and simply appreciated the moment.

His combed his fingers through her curls, feeling the softness of it in his hand as he kissed her softly, never demanding or pushing even if it pained him a lot.

He heard Rollo sigh from somewhere in the house and the crackling of the fire in the hearth. He almost shot out the sofa as small hands tentatively explored his chest and shoulders, before sliding around his neck and up through his hair. Then they moved down his side and waist before her palms settled over the ridges of his stomach. He loved the small sounds she made at the back of her throat and the softness against every part of him that was hard. Every movement and sigh she made, her scent drifted and surrounded him, a heady pheromone, pulling him in closer.

When her hands slipped under his sweatshirt and settled at his lower back, his breath broke and went ragged, and an instant electric tension rose between them, turning their soft, playful kisses heated and more urgent.

As much as it hurt him to do so, he tore his lips away and looked into her eyes. "We dinnae have to do anything ye dinnae want, Sassenach. We can stop right now," he whispered, his voice sounding oddly gruff in his ears. He felt his cock protesting against his boxer shorts, but he ignored the mounting discomfort in his groin.

She shook her head. "No, I don't want to stop. Kiss me again."

Relief slammed through him as a ton of weight lifted off his back. "Sassenach, are ye sure?"

She nodded.

He was about to kiss her again when a gentle push of her hands on his chest stopped him.

"I've never done this before," she whispered.

"What do ye mean?"

She rolled her eyes. "I meant sex!"

Ah, Christ! A virgin living in London! How is that possible? Even for Broch Mordha, a virgin was a rarity. He shut his eyes for a few heartbeats, and when he opened them again, suddenly she looked unsure, almost embarrassed, and he felt she needed him to step up. He gave her a slow smile to put her at ease. "Do ye come with a user's manual? Never been with a virgin before."

Her face broke into laughter, and the tension eased a bit. "No! And before you start having all sorts of notions about virgins, I'm not all that naive. I have a fair idea of how it suppose to happen."

"Weel, no crash courses needed then," he joked before his face turned serious. "But why me, Sassenach?"

She gave him an unwavering look, her chin tilting up slightly. "Because I've never felt like this before."

Neither had he, but the wee voice in the back of his head reminded him this lass was the type of lass you brought home to introduce to your parents. Getting involved with her on a deeper emotional level wouldn't bode well for both of them as her life was in London, and he belonged here. He didn't want to hurt her. She deserved a man who could live in her world without falling down to his knees and having one of his episodes. But the gravitational pull between them was unrelenting. He needed her badly, but his conscience compelled him to offer one more out. One more, before he lost sight of the right thing to do.

"We can just continue kissing ...nothing needs to happen," he rasped, brushing their lips together. "Just say the word, Sassenach. I promise ye I wouldnae mind. I'm perfectly happy just to kiss."

Claire's breath caught as she scrutinised him, the weight of what could follow once they'd stripped each other's clothes written in her eyes. Probably in his, too. "I want this Jamie ... I'm ready."

He studied her for a long while, before making up his mind and nodding. "Wait here."

Getting up, he grabbed some blankets and throw cushions from the sofa and laid them out on the floor. And then he went to retrieve some condoms from the bedroom. After a couple of minutes fussing and finally satisfied with his handiwork, he picked Claire up and gently carried her by the fireplace. Though the fire was already slowly dying down, the embers still glowed, lending the room a cosy feel and warmth.

Claire looked up at him and beamed. "Well, I suppose this is the part where you take off your top."

He laughed out loud despite his balls almost on the verge of mutiny. What supposed to be a tense and awkward moment, was turning out to be fun. He didn't need telling twice. Grinning, he dragged his shirt over his head and was hovering over her under a split second. She looked mightily impressed as she pulled him down. "Wow, never seen anyone take their shirt off so fast," she breathed as he pressed his lips on the hollow of her throat.

"Ye should see how fast I can get yers off," he muttered against the crook of her neck.

She laughed and gently pushed him away. "I don't want my Rudolph top damaged. I'll take my own clothes off, thank you very much."

With his heart in his throat, he watched her stand and peeled off her pyjama bottom first. She had her back to him, and he figured she was trying to hide her blush. And when she took off her top next, his cock roared back to life, and he hurriedly followed suit, taking off his sweatpants, his eyes fixed on the smoothness of her long legs. Leaving her red bra and knickers on, she swiftly slipped next to him, her teeth clattering and her beautiful pale skin covered in goosebumps.

He gathered her immediately under him, rubbing her arms and the side of her body. "How's that? Still cold?" he asked, looking down at her.

She bit her lip and nodded. "Feeling a lot warmer now."

"Christ, ye smell so good."

"And you're so hot." When she realised what she just said, her eyes widened in horror. "I mean you're like a heating pad."

He grinned at her. "I know what ye meant, but I'll take the other meaning any day. It will do wonders for my ego."

She slapped his arm. "Your ego is perfectly intact, I can assure you."

He smiled as he skimmed his hand up her side and gently cupped her breast, waiting for her reaction. When he felt her back arch a little, he brought down his lips to hers, gently thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She let out a tiny whimper, opening and taking each thrust, conscious of her fingernails digging into his shoulders.

He reminded himself to take it slow and make it memorable for her, but when she parted her knees and allowed him to settle between her thighs, he groaned out loud and changed position, so the tip of his erection pressed right into her through their undies. The slow tease of their movements was maddening, and he wondered if she was aware of it. His cock was straining against her where it would slide in effortlessly if there had been nothing between them.

He felt her hooked her thumbs at the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down. He helped her by kicking them off while putting his fingers under the edge of her knickers. He paused with bated breaths, waiting for her permission, and when she lifted her hips, he groaned and kissed her long and thorough, pushing the flimsy scrap down her thighs.

He nipped at her lips, then trailed down with his tongue to nibble her neck, his fingers unsnapping the clasp of her bra. Claire flailed her head, seemingly unable to verbalise the reactions her body was experiencing, and he watched her with fascination. Emboldened, he cupped the weight of her breast, rolling her nipple, then gently tweaking it between his thumb and forefinger.

"Oh, God Jamie ..."

"It's good?"

She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut and rolling her lips in.

Jamie lowered his mouth and sucked her nipple, his tongue flicking and never letting up the frantic pace, his fingers trailing along her inner thigh, causing goosebumps to erupt on her skin. When he touched her core, she was already wet with need, making his head spin out of control. Fighting the urge to take her now, his index finger traced her folds, rubbing her wetness on her nub. The delicate hitch of her breath hit his ears the exact time his mouth abandoned her breast.

He met her gaze and sank into the amber depths of her eyes, so far gone with pleasure they turned to molten gold, full of feminine demand that battled past all obstacles and shattered them to pieces. The raw need etched in her features told Jamie she was past the point of no return, that she wanted him now and he knew the feeling.

"Sassenach ...are ye sure?"

"Oh, sweet Mother of God, if you stop now ..." her voice trailed off in a hiss.

"I need to hear the words."

"For God's sake, I want you, Jamie. Now."

Knocking back the reluctance to untangle himself from her, Jamie reared back and reached out for the condom he'd left beside the cushion. He quickly sheathed himself in stretched latex and prowled up her body, settling between her thighs and muffling her requests to hurry with a hard kiss.

"The first time ye come, I want it to happen while I'm sunk so deep in ye, ye'll never forget who broke it in," he muttered, words muffled by her lips.

"Oh, dear God ..." she moaned.

"Open yer legs wider for me, Sassenach."

She nodded, her fingers running over his cheekbones, lips, chin, as she hiked her knees up. Their breaths raced out of their mouths as he reached down and guided his cock to her opening. Slowly, he pushed inch by inch, allowing her to get used to his girth. When he was finally buried to the hilt, he collapsed and dropped her forehead to hers.

When he got his breath back, he braced himself on his elbow and looked into her eyes. "Did I hurt ye?"

"Just a little. I hardly noticed. Keep moving." She wrapped her legs around his hips, her fingernails scraping his back lightly on the way down to his arse, which she gripped with hesitation at first, then with more confidence.

With a groan, his hips started to roll of their own volition. He held his breath as heat threatened to flare up in his balls. "Oh fuck, ye feel so good."

"Don't stop ..." she gasped frantically moving her hips against him.

With a hand on her bottom, he lifted her hips effortlessly and drove himself deeper, the last shreds of his control dissolving as he fell on top of her like a dying man. His mouth travelled over hers, and she responded in kind, their tongues twining, their bodies moving in synchronicity to the erotic rhythm and dance. The root of his erection grated against her core and her hips lifted to meet his thrusts, her breaths coming out in pants. It was so breathtaking to watch her pleasure, and what his body is doing to hers, it constricted his heart.

When she dropped her legs from his hips to spread them wider, she let out a strangled moan, and his cock bore down, working her nub. He angled his body for more friction, watching and always conscious of her reaction. When her back arched, and her right leg extended further out, they descended into what felt like wanton madness. She whimpered and raised her hips to meet his thrusts, her inner walls beginning a slow, tight suction of his cock. Jamie was almost afraid to look at her, worried the sight of her would make him lose his restraint and come before her. But it was an impossibility to keep his eyes away when she looked so beautiful beneath him.

He watched her writhe and finesse flew out the window. He fell on her, grunting, sucking in huge gulps of air, pushing her thighs open as he drove faster, listening to her moans of his name, treasuring the throaty awe of them in his ears and all around him. Their mouths joined and gorged, her hands slapping down on his buttocks to pull him in deeper and push him faster. All thoughts of logic, questions and issues suspended as he dipped his head, lowered his mouth over her jiggling tits and continued to pump like a wild beast.

Her body suddenly stilled, before trembling violently underneath him in a climax accompanied by a soft moan, her inner walls squeezing his cock tight. Cursing under his breath, he yanked her legs up and drove himself with a few more hard thrusts to his own peak, a loud groan reverberating from his chest and echoing into the room. He squeezed his eyes shut as his body exploded and spilt his seed. He went from being a bundle of tensed nerves to being utterly devoid of it.

Utterly spent, he collapsed on top of her, gathering her against him, almost smothering the air out of her. His insides were totally decimated, mind blown and floated down like confetti.

Moments later, when he lifted his head and searched her eyes, he couldn't stop the widest grin from spreading across his face. And when she returned it with a twinkle in her eye, he fell irreversibly and completely in love with Claire Beauchamp.

..........

The next morning, Jamie got up extra early to let Claire sleep while he did a few chores around the house. He'd kept her up all night, making love and sometime in the early hours of the morning, he'd carried her to his bed. Sleep had been evasive, but this time the cause hadn't been his nightmares or one of his episodes. His thoughts had been filled with the future and its uncertainties instead of being plagued with the past. There were still some niggling doubts lurking in the recesses of his mind, and one of them was his concern when Claire returned to London.

How often had he asked himself in the past twenty-four hours if he could live in London to be closer to her? But now that he had an arboricultural business with Willie, it was doing very well and planning on expanding. He was excited about the community projects he was involved in and committed himself to working long-term. With his episodes and PTSD, the idea of being surrounded by busy streets, chaos, traffics, loud noises, and shoes on the pavement rather than fresh earth paralysed a piece inside him.

Jamie had spent the rest of the night staring into the darkness, wondering what the hell he was going to do. Eventually, some choices have to be made. And he wasn't sure if love would be enough for either of them and if Claire felt the same way.

Taking that leap would only end in heartache and worsen his condition. There had to be some other way. But he couldn't ask her to give up her life and career in London. Or could he? Could he give her what she needed? He shook his head and pushed the bugging thoughts away. They still had the time, and he should focus on that.

After letting Rollo out and bringing in more logs for the fireplace, he made some coffee, answered his emails and read some news on the internet. When his phone chirped and realised it was from his sister Jenny, he groaned. He decided to answer and get it out of the way.

Jenny: I heard all about the lass you're seeing. A city lass, no less. Have you gone mad? Haven't you learned your lessons?

Ah, fuck, I don't have time for this.

Jamie: Enjoy your holiday, and don't worry about me. It's just a winter fling. OK? She's on holiday, and she'll be going back to London. Soon. Happy now?

He left his phone on the kitchen counter and shook his head. This wasn't the text conversation he should be having about Claire. But if it would keep Jenny from busting his balls of all days, he'd play along just to pacify her. He slipped into the bedroom, and when he saw Claire still asleep, he decided to have a shave and shower.

After he was done, he walked into the bedroom and noticed the bed was already made. He searched for Claire, humming under his breath and planning what breakfast he should prepare.

"Sassenach?" he called out.

No answer.

She probably went back to her cottage to get a change of clothes, he thought.

He shrugged and went ahead and prepared breakfast, singing along to the song playing on the radio. All I Want For Christmas Is You.

Dear Readers,

Thanking you all for reading and leaving your feedback on the previous chapter. Very much appreciated. It's crunch time now with my writing and preparation for Christmas, but thank God, I'm still on track.

Anyway, I hope this story has given you Christmas joy so far and looking forward to reading what you thought of my latest update. Sending you best wishes and positive vibes. Take care of yourselves and until next time, much love. x

#melodyheart #all I want for christmas is you #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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schleierkauz · 3 years

Text

Q&A Highlights

Ok so bad news first: My questions were ignored. Cornelia did not clarify any of our death-related theories. Maybe next time.

There was A Lot of other stuff, though so... Enjoy!

- The stream starts with everyone wishing us a happy women’s day! Usually women in Erfurt (where the bookstore people are) get flowers but not today because... you know. Cornelia says America is starting to go back to normal, meanwhile Germany... :| Anyway. Don’t look over here.

- Cornelia says she probably won’t get the vaccine anytime soon because she’s just chilling on her farm anyway and people who have to be out in public/are vulnerable should get it first

- Question: When will Cornelia visit Germany again? In response to this, she gives us some exclusive news, not official yet, heard it here first: She’s gonna move to Italy! Apparently she bought an olive farm there which is cheaper, better for the environment (her current farm will be sold to some people who want to turn it into an organic farm) and obviously closer to Germany so she’ll be here more often. :)

- The 4th Reckless book will be released in English at some point this autumn

- There’s no definite release date for TCoR because she’s busy with Dragonrider but she hopes she’ll have finished writing it by the end of this year

- If she’s still alive after all that to work on Reckless 5, it’ll be the last book of the series... probably. She’s also working on a bunch of smaller projects with her artists in residence

- Question: What are Cornelia’s favorite stories by Jane Austen, the Brontë sister and Shakespeare? She’s not a huge fan of Austen or Brontë because she finds all those repressed emotions too exhausting to read about. With Shakespeare on the other hand she struggles to name a favorite because there’s so much greatness to choose from (she does name MacBeth and Romeo and Juliet though)

- The Black Prince’s legacy in the Reckless timeline may play a role in the next Reckless book or it might evolve into a whole other story. Either way, she’s thinking about it 👀

- Someone asks about Reckless characters and Cornelia says that Kami’en and the Dark Fairy felt very familiar to her from the start in that she always knew who they were as people. She’s not sure why that is. She thinks the Dark Fairy represents many aspects of womanhood, like the ancient forgotten Goddess. Same with Fox, who embodies different sides of that.

- If Cornelia had to date a man from the Mirrorworld, Kami’en would interest her

- Rainer Strecker randomly joins the chat to say hi and everyone is delighted

- Cornelia’s favorite book series is still Lord of the Rings

- Question: Why has the Black Prince never found his true love? Cornelia says she’s not sure that’s true - maybe he did found true love at some point and then lost it again? ‘...and they lived happily ever after’ isn’t a guaranteed outcome after all. Since he’s such a passionate man, she’s pretty sure he’s had at least one big lovestory at this point. She hasn’t asked him about that yet but hopes she’ll find out when she continues writing his story.

- Jumping off that question, Cornelia says she respects her characters’ privacy and lets them keep their secrets until the time comes to ask about them, just as she would with real people.

- Someone asks if Cornelia has ever written herself into a story and she says a part of her is in all her characters. Except the villains because she hates them. She feels closest to Fox because she also always wished she could shapeshift

- The bookstore lady jumps in and asks about Meggie, is she similar to how Cornelia was as a child? Cornelia says yes, especially because she also had a very close relationship with her father and they would bond over books. However, she always envisioned Meggie with dark hair and as a different kind of girl than she was. (Ok sidenote from me on that, I wonder what she means by ‘dark hair’? Because Meggie is explicitly blond, so like... dark blond? Or did we just unlock brunette Meggie in 2021? Cornelia-)

- Continuing the conversation, Cornelia says she doesn’t consider herself the creator of any of the characters in her stories, she feels like she met them and wrote about him but she would never say something like ‘I invented Dustfinger’ because that’s absurd. How would that even work. That’s disrespectful. No.

- Some characters pretty much demand to be written about and are very impatient (like Jacob), others are more shy and elusive and take effort to understand (like Will or Dustfinger)

- There probably won’t be another book like The Labyrinth of the Faun because it was created under such unbelievable circumstances. Cornelia does enjoy writing film scripts, though, like she did for the Wild Chicks recently

- Question: How does Cornelia come up with character names? She has a bunch of encyclopedias and when she knows where a story takes place she checks if there are any artists from there whose names she can steal. She always wants names to have meaning and to paint a picture of whatever character it belongs to. However, she says that sometimes the vibe of a name is a tricky thing: When she wrote The Thief Lord (which takes place in Italy), she thought ‘Mosca’ was the perfect name for a big strong boy. However when the time came to translate the story into Italian, the Italians told her that ‘Mosca’ sounds like the name of a tiny little fly. Oh well.

- Cornelia says a lot of readers have written to her about The Thief Lord because at one point Victor (the detective) calls Mosca (who is black) a “Mohrenkopf”. Context: ‘Mohrenkopf’ is a German slur towards black people and also an outdated name for this goddamn marshmallow cookie:

Fuck this cookie.

- Cornelia says yeah, Victor is being racist in that moment but that doesn’t mean that she, the author, is racist. Similarly, she used the term ‘Indians’ in Reckless and a lot of readers were upset which she did not anticipate. To her it’s a positive word since she admires ‘Indians’ so deeply and finds terms like ‘Native/Indigenous Americans’ very complicated. She wonders how much longer she’ll be allowed to say ‘Black Prince’

- She thinks it’s right to be vigilant about bigotry but simply searching for problematic words is dangerous because context matters

- Bookstore lady brings up Pippi Longstocking and how the N-word has been removed from modern copies (think Pippi’s father). She think’s it’s wrong because the original text is part of the cultural heritage and shouldn’t be hidden from children but instead explained.

- Cornelia says that in America she sees the hurt that’s connected to that word but she doesn’t think it’s right to simply remove the slur and expect everything to be fine. After all, the text in which it was used is still the same so any harmful ideas would still be in there and that needs to be discussed. Simply whitewashing things doesn’t make them any less racist.

- Cornelia brings up a visual example: The Asterix comics. She always liked them but the fact that the only black character is drawn as a racist caricature is harmful and wrong. It’s time to listen when black people express how hurtful depictions like that can be. Many white people never noticed racism growing up because it never affected them and that’s why it’s important to learn

- The ‘from rags to riches’ American dream was usually reserved for white people and Cornelia thinks a lot of (white) people are waking up to that fact. The way black people are still being criminalized and the way prisons use inmates for cheap labor is horrible and like a modern kind of slavery

- The bookstore people try to say something but Cornelia is not done: We Europeans are not off the hook either because the sins and wounds of colonialism are still felt around the world, not to mention the way other countries are still exploited today. Our wealth rests on the shoulders of poorer nations. Many doors are opening and it’s difficult to step through but we have to do it and admit to the things we may have been blind to due to privilege.

- The three of them agree on that and go back to reading questions

- Question: What are Cornelia’s tips for young authors? She advises to never start writing a story on a computer, always get a notebook and collect ideas & pictures for your story. Don’t rush things. If you have more than one story, give each story its own book and feed whichever one is hungry. It’s important to follow the idea where it leads, if you use cliches your readers will recognize them. And then it just takes time and passion. And trust in your own unique voice. She paraphrases a quote by Robert Louis Stevenson who once said no one cares about stories or characters or whatever, people read books to see the world through the goggles the author puts on them. I’m sure he said it prettier, I’m paraphrasing the paraphrase.

- That said, Cornelia thinks authors who say things like “I’m writing to express my innermost turbulences” are kinda dumb. She thinks it’s important to write about the things that happen everywhere else and around yourself and to try to find voices for others, not just yourself. Just like how carpenters build furniture for everyone else, a writer should use words to build things for others, whether it’s a window or door or a hiding place.

- Speaking of notebooks, as most of us probably know Cornelia has a lot of those and occasionally publishes them on her website. She says she’d love to let people look through them in person, maybe at the new farm in Germany (Cornelia sure does love farms)

- Speaking of writing things on paper, all three of them stress that everyone should write more letters because one day they’ll be old letters and curious people will want to read them, just as we like to read old documents now.

- Last question: How come both the Inkworld and the Mirrorworld feature a character called Bastard? Cornelia thinks that’s a good question and she should probably think about that. (Am I stupid? Are they talking about Basta? I’m confused)

...And with that, the livestream ends. They’ll get back together to do this again two months from now, until then: I’m going tf to sleep

#its 4am fuck me this took SO LONG-#cornelia funke #info #reckless #inkheart #man this was a long one #a lot to unpack here #thanks cornelia i have more questions now hdfhkjghd #i googled way more slurs than i had planned for today ngl #i really really hope i managed to accurately translate especially that part of the conversation #honestly i cringed a bit hearing them talk about it #but it is an important discussion i suppose #also @ the people who actually read my tags:#thank you for the good luck wishes for my interview today!! it went really well!#i was vibrating the entire time bc its been so long since i talked to a stranger #but i got the job :) so all is well

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brokutosan · 4 years

Text

Title. We Are Your First, Last, & Only Line of Defense Against This World of Scum

Pairing. Seijoh 3rd Years x Platonic!Reader

Summary. In which growing up is hard, but it’s a lot less harder if you’re doing it with the bestest friends you could ever ask for in the world (and Oikawa Toruu). Or; a journey through the friendship of the third years of Seijoh’s volleyball club.

Warnings. Manga spoilers up to chapter 395. Lots of cursings and mentions of anxieties about growing up. Kind of incoherent and mostly ramblings + not much dialogue, but I’ve been enjoying writing these types of things. Full disclosure: this is completely based on that official art of them at a karaoke bar. Title is from Men in Black by Will Smith.

Oikawa Toruu was 6 years old when he was crying about some kid stealing his pudding cup. And Iwaizumi Hajime was 6 years old when he dreamt of becoming a cop once he grew up, so he sought to bring justice for Oikawa’s pudding cup. L/N Y/N, also 6 years old, had declared that she would marry Hajime once she was old enough to, so she thought it was her job as his future bride to be his partner in solving this crime. (Oikawa Toruu could care less, he just wanted his pudding cup back).

Long story short, Iwaizumi Hajime ended up scuffling with said kid after he called him “stupid porcupine head” and Y/N jumped in the fray to save her future groom, while Oikawa jumped in to reclaim his pudding cup. And that was just the start of their long series of getting into trouble together.

When Oikawa Toruu was 14 years old and in his last year of junior high, the ugly green monster had reared its head and caused hostility between him and a certain kouhai. Y/N, always the kind one, had called him out on his bullshit and told him to get his act together. Oikawa fired back and called her out on her “pathetic crush on Iwa-chan,” effectively setting off the cold war between them that lasted all of summer. Iwaizume recalls having to go back and forth between the two because they refused to be in the same room together.

By the time they were 15 years old and entering highschool, the two ended up being in the same class. Oikawa pretended not to know her and hung out with “Makki” from his volleyball team. Y/N tried branching out and making friends with the other girls in her class for once, but she was shunned out for being close to the Oikawa Toruu back in middle school.

Their three months of silent treatment ended on the second week of the new school year, when Oikawa was enraged by the nasty rumors spreading about his childhood friend. Some guy Y/N rejected during the third day of school had spread rumors that she was involved in a reverse harem with Oikawa and Iwaizumi and that he didn’t bother going out with her because she was “too easy.”

Oikawa, 15 years old, threw the first punch. Iwaizumi, also 15 years old, held back his friend until Oikawa shouted out, “This bastard’s running around calling Y/N-chan a whor-” Oikawa didn’t need to finish because by then Iwaizumi had thrown the second punch. Matsukawa Issei and Hanamaki Takahiro, both 15 years old, tried holding back their two new volleyball teammates.

And that’s how Y/N and Oikawa tearfully made up, and the two, “Mattsun” and “Makki”, as Oikawa affectionately named them, joined their little friend group. Y/N ended up joining the volleyball club as a manager per Oikawa’s request (command) and finally everything was back to normal, with everyone forgetting about the “cold war” between Oikawa and Y/N.

It didn’t take long for Hanamaki and Matsukawa to fit into the group because anyone that could tolerate Oikawa deserves a reward (and that reward is the friendship they’ve built over the years, but none of them actually liked to get sappy).

By the time the five friends were 16 year olds in their second year of highschool, Oikawa has made a name for himself as the great setter of the Seijoh volleyball team. The other three were close behind in terms of popularity, but none were quite as open with it as Oikawa was. Y/N, on the other hand, did not get to enjoy the joys of the glory brought by the four players. She made heads turn, but the sight of four glowering boys right behind her made them turn back.

But there were a few exceptions.

Y/N was 16 years old and in second year of highschool when she got her first boyfriend. It wasn’t Oikawa, or Iwaizumi, or Hanamaki, or Matsukawa, no, it was a fellow second year in the same class as her (she was lucky enough not to be put in the same class as any of her idiot friends that year).

All five of them have forgotten his name now, but when they do talk about him every now and then, he was given the affectionate nickname, “Pighead.” Because two months into their relationship, Pighead had the nerve to demand Y/N to completely cut off her four friends.

Because she was young and naive and under the illusion of puppy love, Y/N was thrown into a dilemma. She mulled over it for weeks, lost sleep over whether or not she should comply, until Iwaizumi snapped her out of it and made her spill what was bothering her.

Once the four boys found out they offered to wipe Pighead off the face of Earth, but Y/N just cried and apologized for even just thinking about cutting off her amazing friends. They had a sleepover that night and Y/N still remembers it as one of her best childhood memories.

(Because of that one incident Y/N had decided to completely cut off immature boys from her highschool days).

Come their third year of highschool the five were as close as ever (and Oikawa, regrettably, much more annoying). They’ve built up seemingly unbreakable bonds that would last a lifetime, and Y/N was glad that she was able to take part in it. Having the four boys throughout her teenage years certainly was enjoyable, and she wouldn’t trade the memories and years of friendship they’ve attained for anything in the world. As long as she had the four of them (even Oikawa), she believed she could face off anything and anyone in the world.

When Y/N began worrying about college and growing up, they were there to help cheer her up. When the boys lost to Karasuno in the Prefectural Qualifiers, Y/N was there to cheer them up. She still remembers the tearful afternoon spent in the gym they’d spent three years of their lives in. And despite not being as hurt as the boys were after losing, Y/N had found herself shedding a few tears of her own. As they closed the gym doors one final time, they’ve also closed the doors to their childhood.

Teenage years go by, and as quick as they’ve entered highschool they found themselves graduating. Growing up. Taking the next step into adulthood. The four boys she came to love as her found family were now four men, and they’ve done well growing up.

And just like that tearful goodbye at the Seijoh volleyball club gym, Y/N finds herself preparing for another one. All five of them are adults now. Iwaizumi is going off to California to study in an American university, Oikawa’s going to Argentina to play volleyball, and Hanamaki and Matsukawa are moving to Tokyo together to study in a university. For once in her life, Y/N finds that she’ll be all alone in Miyagi, while her friends take the next few steps to growing up.

The five of them find themselves in Hanamaki’s childhood bedroom, for one last weekend sleepover before everything changes. They’ve strewn out blankets and pillow on the floor, and are laying down in a circular formation. They’ve been in this bedroom hundreds of times, in this same exact position, but now it’s completely different.

All his posters of celebrities are taken down and wrapped neatly on a pile sitting on his desk. His clutter of figurines and plushies collected over the years are in boxes, ready to move with their owner. His closet is empty, the clothes inside stuffed into their own labeled boxes. And his volleyball jersey that’s usually hung by the door is no longer there, no doubt already packed somewhere safe. Y/N tries not to dwell on the somberness of it all, and instead forces a laugh when Matsukawa makes a joke.

Y/N realizes she messed up when four pairs of eyes turn to look at her. “I know I’m a riot, but that joke wasn’t even that funny. I’ll admit to that.” Matsukawa speaks up.

“What’s on your mind?” Iwaizumi finally asks. His arms are behind his head and he’s staring up at the ceiling, no doubt lost in his own train of thoughts.

Y/N contemplates if she should ruin the peaceful vibes surrounding their group. They’ve already cried tons after losing to Karasuno, so do they even have any tears left for a goodbye? Y/N looks to her left and realizes all their attention focused on her, waiting for her to answer Iwaizumi’s question.

“Nothing. Just that maybe this’ll be our last weekend together.” She sighs, letting her emotions get the best of her. “We’re all going our own separate ways, who knows what could happen, y’know?”

It’s Oikawa that reacts first, but that’s no surprise since he’s Oikawa. “Y/N-chan! Are you trying to say you’re gonna miss me?” He asks with comical tears in his eyes. Y/N immediately regrets speaking up.

“I think I might miss you the least.” Oikawa feigns hurt at the comment, but he knows his friend better than anybody. ‘I’ll miss you more than you could even imagine.’ Is what she’s trying to say.

“Oi. No more crying.” Hanamaki finally says something. He can see the tears forming at Oikawa’s eyes, and a few that already shed from Y/N’s, before he feels the familiar burning sensation in his throat. “Damn it.”

“Nothing’s gonna change. We’ll all keep in touch, plain and simple.” Matsukawa announces, almost as if he was sure of it. “And if anyone,” Iwaizumi adds, looking directly at Oikawa, “decides to be a dick and try to cut us off, we’ll all personally fly out to South America to kick his ass.” A chorus of ‘yes’ sounded out as Oikawa gasps at his friends’ reactions.

“Why does it always get violent with you, Iwa-chan?!” He whines like a child, causing an outburst of laughter from the other four.

Hanamaki notices Y/N staring off into space again before he sighs, placing an affectationate hand on her head. “Relax, loser. It’s not like we’re gonna totally forget Miyagi. If anything me and Issei are gonna come back home more than you think. You’ll get tired of us eventually.”

Y/N wipes a few stray tears and nods, finally showing a genuine smile. “I’ll kill all of you if you even try to forget about Miyagi.”

“Impossible.” Iwaizumi says with a gentle smile on his lips.

The next morning the five friends make their way to Narita Airport, where Oikawa’s flying off to Argentina to become a better player. Their eyes are bloodshot red from staying up all night crying and reminiscing old memories together.

The walk from the parking lot to the boarding gate is quiet, until Oikawa breaks the awkward air between them. “When I get back, I’ll wipe the court with Tobio-chan.”

“You’re still not over that? Grow up.” Y/N glares, suddenly remembering their childish fight during their last year of junior high. Hanamaki laughs first, followed by Matsukawa, and finally Iwaizumi. The people around them stare strangely as five teens laugh with tears streaming down their eyes.

“Try not to miss me too much, ‘k, Y/N-chan?” Oikawa winks, just barely dodging the fist swung at him. A boarding call for Oikawa’s flight fills the airport, and they finally remember why they’re there in the first place.

“I’ll miss you guys.” He finally says seriously, tears freely falling down his face. Y/N cracks first, flinging herself to his awaiting arms and cries as she realizes this is his goodbye. Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and Iwaizumi follow, forming a group hug in the middle of Narita Airport.

Oikawa pulls away, dragging a sleeve to wipe away his tears. He opens his mouth to say one final goodbye, but is interrupted by a plethora of voices overlapping each other,

“Try not to make your teammates hate you too much. Make some friends.”

“Don’t even think about calling me at midnight about your stupid problems.”

“If you come crying to me about your knee, I’m just gonna say I told you so.”

“Once you get back, I’ll be sure to give you hell.”

“Oi, what kind of curse are you all placing on me?!” Oikawa whines, the somber atmosphere replaced by their usual energetic one.

With one last ‘goodbye,’ Oikawa strides towards the airport gates, and away from the ones he’s grown to love over the years. He looks over his shoulders, taking a mental picture of all four of his closest friends waving and giving him nods of encouragement so that he’d never forget what he’ll always have back home.

The world can throw anything it wants at them, but as long as they had each other, nothing’s ever too scary or too tough.

A/N. Thank you for reading this totally self-indulgent fic with my fav third years! A Miya twins version of this fic is in the works! Also, I’m thinking of making a mini series off of this oneshot where you chose a route with one of the boys (romantically). Let me know if you guys would also be interested in that. - chuu

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thursday-writes-fanfics · 4 years

Text

Choose, part 3.(Reader x Jack Sparrow or Will Turner. )

Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean, Will Turner, Jack Sparrow.

Warnings: Angst, letting go of relationships to heal, ( also I am still rusty lol)

Words: 2.2 K

First - Former - Next

“Well, gentlemen and gentlewoman- oh wait, I mean trio of bastards, you caught me. Now, what do you want?”

The three of them looked at each other, still not used to the hostility Y/N showed them. After all, they had gone through so many things together and never had she called them bad names or belittled them. Never had she fought them with the intent to kill or leave, and now that was all that she did.

“Got nothing to say? Good, then leave me be,” Y/N grunted and attempted to step forth so she could walk past them, only to jump slightly when Will aimed his revolver right at her head. A shit-eating grin split the young woman’s face as she stared at the blacksmith’s serious face. “Oh, so you think a threat to my life is going to keep me from going?” Y/N asked and stepped closer, smirking as the gunslinger took a step back in retaliation. “How stupid could one man be?” fell from Y/N’s lips and it was the only warning the man got before suddenly she dashed at him, almost crouched on the ground to avoid any bullets aimed her way.

“Here she comes!” roared Jack and dove before his companion, managing to block a blade meant for poor Will’s family jewels with his own sabre, yelping as a fist was aimed at his head. As Jack ducked to avoid it, poor Will faced his makers as he with a weak squeak fell onto his side, incapacitated. A loud snarl left Y/N throat as she aimed her cutlass for the captain on the ground, his shout of fear nothing but comical, only she had no time to laugh as he someone managed to spin on the ground, kicking her in the back of her knees. It gave the pirate just enough time to scramble to his feet before Y/N was after him, Elizabeth and Will forgotten as the two true pirates battled it out.

“Honestly, love,” Jack said as he stepped backwards quickly, throwing crates and other sorts of distractions so that he would not be the one impaled on a blade next. “I think you’re overreacting quite a bit about the bullet,” Y/N burned with rage as she realised he believed that she was only angry for him shooting her, and had yet to realise what he had done to her before. A scream left the captain as suddenly Y/N snatched the gun from her holster, aiming it and pulling the trigger within a second. The only reason Jack was still alive was because Y/N’s revolver was still dripping wet.

“I’m going to kill you, Sparrow!” roared Y/N in reply as she threw her revolver aside, effectively hitting Will right in the head. Y/N dashed for the pirate, swords clashing and sparks flying like fireworks at the sheer force of their impact. Jack was struggling to keep himself upright as the onslaught of Y/N’s weapons were like trying to fight the force of the sea. Elizabeth, who had been tending to will, came to his rescue.

“Y/N, stop! You’re acting like a madman!” she cried out as she swung her blade through the air, Y/N meeting it without looking. “Oh?” Y/N snarled and faced her childhood friend. “I’m the mad one, is that right?” she asked with a roar before she changed targets, Elizabeth crying out in surprise as she had yet to ever meet Y/N in a serious battle. Elizabeth realised just how important it was to have Y/N as a friend rather than a foe, as with Y/N before her as an enemy now, she feared for her life more than she had ever done before.

“Elizabeth!” both men shouted, and their calls for the woman only fueled Y/N’s fire, the hatred like black tar in the usually bright eyes. Elizabeth’s eyes widened in fear as suddenly her sword was flying through the air, the force of her opponent having knocked it right out of her hand. The metal vibrated as it dove into the ground, penetrating the old wooden planks until it was halfway to the hilt. The only reason the woman did not fall dead to the ground was because both Jack and Will had managed to get off their arses and were both grasping Y/N’s arms.

“Y/N, stop it! What is wrong with you?” Will shouted as he desperately held her arms, surprised to find his childhood friend with more strength than he could ever imagine. At his words, she only fought back more fiercely, each breath heaved from her chest like an animalistic snarl. “I know I’m not the best one with words, but you definitely should not have said that,” Jack mused with a strained voice as with all his strength had to hold on. Elizabeth gazed at the woman, that stared at her with such anger she almost had a hard time believing Y/N had time and time again almost died to save her. Elizabeth slowly strode forth, fingers shaking as she hesitated to reach out to her friend, but the hint of remorse in those darkened eyes steeled her resolve.

“What happened to us?” Elizabeth whispered as she softly rested her hand upon Y/N’s warm cheek, the biting winds from the seas doing nothing to cool the fire which burned underneath her skin. For a moment, Y/N stilled, staring at her friend with clarity. Her struggles stopped, and the two men dared gaze at one another with a questioning glance before they loosened their hold. A grave mistake, as the moment Y/N could feel herself be released slightly the grief once more filled her eyes. She tore herself free from them, pushing them aside so that they stumbled and crashed into one another, Y/N spinning like a dance away from them whilst she sheathed her blades and found her revolver. With a light twirl, it too was put in its confinement. She gazed at the group, her heart breaking as she looked upon the three of them like the last time she had been awake. All together, both of her lost loves holding her childhood friend to protect her. It was an unbearable agony.

“I must agree with Jack,” Y/N dragged out her words as she gazed at the trio, tears burning in the back of her eyes as she forced them back. “Last time were were all together before you drugged me to sleep for gods know how many days, I explained everything. I proclaimed how I had loved you how I had been nothing to you because of Elizabeth,” she drawled before her eyes laid on the vast waters behind her, none of the others moving as Y/N hadn’t spoken this calmly since she left to meet Barbossa.

“I told you, how I fell for Jack when he made me feel wanted. Like I wasn’t just brought along because they felt bad. They needed me there, they wanted me there. Jack wanted me,” she seemed to have grown tired in only the few seconds which she spoke, as she turned once more to face the other three, the lantern’s light reflecting in Y/N’s eyes. The sorrow and agony was clear in her eyes now, and finally, it clicked in their heads that she had actually meant what she said that day on the docks, so far away from here. “And you,” Y/N said and pointed at her lifelong friend with a trembling finger.

“You took them both away from me. I understand that the heart chooses over the mind, but you could at least once looked at me, and realised that the tears in my eyes were caused by you. By your indecisiveness that made my heart break over and over. I even told you I fancied Jack,” Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide as Y/N spoke, her mind searching for the crucial moment they spoke of and the memory of a cold, misty morning aboard their ship. She could remember vividly, how Y/N had told her that her heart had started beating for a certain captain, and how she believed he felt the same for her.

“I-” Elizabeth began, flabbergasted by her own behaviour. How could she have forgotten such a thing, she wondered. After all, I had been the first time Y/N expressed how she had felt about someone romantically. Elizabeth knew that memory should have been burned into her mind. “You what?” Y/N asked and suddenly threw her hand to her face, roughly rubbing away what could only have been an escaped their. Three hearts cracked as they saw it, as Y/N had never let a single tear fall in front of them ever before.

“That’s what I thought,” Y/N replied when Elizabeth couldn’t utter a word. Y/N stepped towards them, both Jack and Will coming to hover over Elizabeth protectively before they realised what they had done. Y/N momentarily stopped in her steps, the pure agonising sorrow shown so clearly on her face before she lowered her head and stepped past them.

“Y/N,” Will began, only to be silenced as a blade’s tip hung by his throat. “Don’t,” Y/N replied, not even allowing herself to look at him as it would hurt far too greatly. “Just don’t,” came her whisper, uncharacteristically tiny compared to her usually booming and confident tone. “Oh, Y/N,” Jack whispered as his heart truly hurt upon hearing and seeing his most fierce and righteous Y/N like this.

“Do not look for me,” Y/N sniffled and cleared her throat, blade back in its scabbard as she turned away from her friends, trying her best to not break down crying right before them. No one said a word, only confirming her fear that she wasn’t good enough for them. Because had she truly been worth enough, they would have grasped her and begged her to remain. “I wish you all the best,” Y/N continued, her breath choked in her throat as suddenly arms bound around her. She knew exactly who that was, and it tore her apart.

“I’m so sorry,” Elizabeth whispered as her head rested between Y/N’s shoulder blades, arms so tightly wound around her friend one would believe she was trying to kill her. Y/N knew it was because Elizabeth was afraid, feared that Y/N would never be part of her life again. Honestly, it was what she had believed she wanted all this time, but now when Elizabeth held her like she was her lifeline, Y/N didn’t know how she felt. Of course, she wished to be with her friends and those she had loved, however, the pain was too great.

“I can’t forgive you, Elizabeth,” Y/N whispered, hearing the heavy sobs that left her friend’s chest as she uttered the words Elizabeth never wished to hear. “Not right now,” Y/N continued and stepped through the protective embrace of her childhood friend, Elizabeth crying as she had no strength to hold her back. Y/N took another step, and with remorse realised she was free. She needed to leave but wished not to. She wanted to run into Elizabeth’s arms, to hug her and forgive her. Yet, her heart would not allow it, having grown determined after so many heartbreaks.

“I do not hate you, Elizabeth. I hope you know that,” Y/N said and turned to face the trio, the light from the lanterns reflecting the fat tears that streamed down her cheeks. “I could never do that. I love you too much to ever hate you. You’re my sister, even if our mother’s and fathers are not the same,” Elizabeth slumped onto her knees as she gazed at her dearest friend, the tears flowing from her eyes and her sobs to heavy they raked through her entire body. Jack and Will could say nothing and do nothing, as just like Elizabeth, they were filled with grief.

“Next time we meet, I hope we can see eye to eye as friends once more. But for now, I must heal,” Y/N said and one last time she grinned at them, that cheerful smile that would always make them grin back. But this time it did not, and as Y/N left they felt nothing but empty.

Y/N made her way back to the crowded streets, her tears having dried as she forced them back from whence they came. It would be unwise to show vulnerability amongst pirates, even those she knew. Her feet dragged her back to her favourite pub, closed for the night. With a heavy hand, Y/N knocked and was surprised to hear Mary’s footsteps when she should be dead asleep. The door swung open, the tavern-keeper stepping out with musket held firmly in hand. It fell upon gazing at the young woman before her, and Mary could tell without words Y/N was heartbroken.

“Come on in, lass. I’ll get you a warm place to sleep for tonight,” the older woman mused with a motherly whisper and Y/N stepped into her waiting arms. She cried for a long time that night, Mary there to hold her and soothe her tears through the darkness.

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obsidianfr3sk · 4 years

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Rise of the Renegades (Chapter 7)

Summary: Heroes come from the most unexpected places. Heroes sometimes feel a little too different, a little too scared, a little too alone. But heroes also know when enough is enough, and that before saving the world, they need to save themselves. And they cannot do it alone.

They were going to be the hope of the world. They were going to call themselves the Renegades. Even if they didn’t know it yet.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26246812/chapters/65983648

Alo (? Today’s chapter is up early lol and it’s about Gay-Girl alliance (?

Thanks for the reblogs, comments, nice tags and likes. They help me to keep writing!

Tag list: @nodrianbcyes @healing-winston-pratt @dawniebb @cerenoya @bluraspberryoff-secretary @ marissagustrerbenson

Nothing is better than superheroes

Frankly, I feel insane,

but you say you feel the same,

and suddenly, it’s like, "Hey, I’m not crazy".

Don’t kill me, 'cause I’m just the messenger.

I’ve never seen someone quite this strange before.

You’re just like me, you took all your vitamins.

You’re just like me and you take delight in it.

Georgia

It was very difficult to be in the city at night. There was no light, but she wasn’t sure if it was because almost everyone was sleeping or because there was no electricity in that neighborhood.

Probably the first thing. It was... a little late.

She had forgotten how good it felt to fly.

In the sky, Georgia was free to do as she pleased. She would flip, shout at the top of her lungs, sing old songs that her father had taught her, curse everything she could not curse anywhere else, and laugh for real.

Anarchy was insignificant when seen from above.

Freedom. That was freedom. And what a sweet taste it had.

She wondered if one day, everyone could taste it.

Finally, she arrived. Or so she thought.

She went down in a tailspin and stopped before touching the ground. After looking around, she realized all the windows were closed and the lights were off.

She was safe.

The mailbox of the house at her right had written over it the number 4480. She looked at the notebook again. It said 4491 Atha Drive.

Close.

The street was empty. She kept flying from there, quietly begging that no woke up for a midnight snack and decided to look through the window.

It took longer to think that than to get to 4491. It was a pretty small house, blue on the outside, with the window frames and the door painted white. They also had a mailbox, but Georgia was sure it wasn’t big enough for the notebook to fit there.

That house just felt so full of mystery...

The hell with this. She was going to leave it in his room.

Georgia felt like Santa Claus. Or the tooth fairy. Like she was one of those creatures that only children with a lot of imagination believed in. Though she doubted Hugh E. wasn’t one of those kids.

Hugh

Simon left before the sun went down. His aunt asked him if he wanted to stay for dinner, but he said his little sister was alone in the house and someone needed to take care of her. Hugh decided to go to his room. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

He left his books on the old wooden table that served as his desk. Hugh felt so angry just thinking about his backpack. It was pretty new. His aunt had saved money to buy it for him and even had a key chain made of corkscrew that Sophie had given him as a gift for being her brother’s best friend. He had been so moved by that gesture…

And the bastards had taken it.

That’s right, he said bastards. So what?

Hugh wasn’t scared anymore. When they took his backpack, they also took away his fear. Now, Hugh could only feel anger and helplessness.

If only he had fought a little more, if only he had used his powers for what they really were…

Hugh had always known his powers were dangerous. He was old enough to remember how people talked about prodigies before the Age of Anarchy. Prodigies were freaks. Prodigies were dangerous.

And sometimes those messages made him wonder if that’s why his parents didn’t want him. If it was because they thought he would grow and become a danger to everyone around it.

That is why he had spent his whole life trying to be nice to the world, even if the whole world wasn’t nice to him. He wanted to prove to everyone, even himself, that prodigies were not dangerous. Or not all of them.

He knew that if he had used his powers against those particular villains, it would only make him turn into a villain himself.

And Hugh was not a villain. He was never going to be one.

However, he also knew that if he had used his powers against them, he probably would have found Simon before that freaking kid hurt him.

Hugh would have been there for him.

He fixed his gaze on the superhero drawings he had on the wall. Some were from before the Age of Anarchy. He liked to have them next to the newer ones, to feel good about all the progress he had made.

They always made him feel good but that time, they didn’t. They made him feel like an idiot.

He would never be like them. They took the initiative. They did fight a little more. They were themselves even if others didn’t like it.

They didn’t feel like dangerous freaks because they had never been told they were ones.

Comic book superheroes didn’t have to bottle all the anger fear left when it went away. What could Hugh do with it other than keeping it in the depths of his soul and wait for it to die with him?

He put his hands on one of his drawings.

How easy it’s for you.

Georgia

She stayed a few inches above the ground to not make any noise. They didn’t have a fence. She took it as a good sign.

Maybe you’re welcome here.

Georgia flew into the backyard. There was a square window. She approached to make sure it was a boy’s room.

It was late when she realized that it was, in fact, a boy’s room and that this boy, blond, with glasses and wearing blue pajamas, was still awake.

Hugh

Just as he was beginning to tear the edges of the sheet of paper, a shadow blocked the moonlight that entered his room.

Hugh turned his back.

A woman in white clothes and a yellow jacket floated across his window, looking at him as if she were the one who was surprised by him.

She was hugging a red notebook. His notebook.

He didn’t even notice it was missing.

Hugh opened the window. The woman backed away slightly frightened. However, as soon as she looked into his eyes, she recovered immediately.

She gave him the notebook. There was a piece of paper between its pages. He opened it and realized it was his drawing, but it was no longer broken like the last time he saw it.

The woman had taped it back together with strawberry washi-tape.

He never thought something like this would make him feel almost as happy as his drawings did.

Hugh looked up to thank her and recognized her immediately. It was the girl from the store.

The moonlight made her look like...

There was no other explanation. She just had to be that.

She could not be just a girl.

Georgia

The boy was the first to speak. “Are you an angel?”

Georgia cringed a little. Of course that boy would believe in angels.

She laughed under her breath. “No. I am not.”

He turned his head slightly. “Then what are you?”

And it sounded like he really didn’t understand who or what Georgia was.

It’s okay. I’m also having a hard time understanding who or what are you.

“I am a...”

Georgia began to look for an answer inside her head.

Just invent something, Georgia.

“I am a superhero.”

The boy smiled at her, but not as he had smiled at the Roach that afternoon. It was more like he was smiling at an ally. To an acquaintance. Or an old friend.

It was a prettier smile.

“That’s better. There’s nothing better than superheroes. You know why I know that?”

More mystery.

She shook her head. “Why?”

“Because I am a superhero too.”

Georgia smiled back at him. But of course you’re a prodigy, Hugh E. Of course you are.

She was beginning to understand him. And he seemed to be beginning to understand her, too.

Hugh

It took him a while to remember his manners. “My name is Hugh, by the way,” he said offering his hand.

Don’t squeeze it too hard.

The woman shook his hand. “I know. I saw it in your notebook.”

He felt he was turning a little red, but her nervous laughter calmed him down a bit. “My name is Georgia. Georgia Rawles.”

“How did you find me, Georgia?”

Georgia took the notebook and showed him the inside of the cover. “You wrote your address here.”

“Oh, I see.” He suddenly remembered that day. Simon had been in a particularly good mood. He had liked that. Simon wasn’t always in a good mood. “Maybe I should stop putting my personal information in my notebooks.”

“On the contrary, I think you should do it more often,” she replied. “What’s going to happen when you lose a notebook again?”

He shrugged and laughed.

“Hey. And what’s this comic about?”

At first, he was very surprised that a girl wanted to know what a comic was about. However, he gradually realized that what actually surprised him was that she didn’t read comics.

“You don’t read comics?”

“No. I’m more of a book person. Mysteries, crime novels, and so on.”

“I don’t read,” he confessed.

Georgia thought for a moment. “I think comics count as reading.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes, I heard it once in class,” she clarified.

Despite the darkness of the night, Hugh noticed that Georgia trembled slightly. That jacket wasn’t protecting her from the October cold at all.

“Do you want to come in?” he asked.

Georgia raised her eyebrows. “Does your mom let you have girls in the room?” she asked with a trembling voice.

“I don’t know what my mom would say, but my aunt is asleep.” He got out of bed to make room for her when it happened. “Come in.”

Georgia suddenly looked slightly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I didn’t remember— I didn’t know about your mom.”

“Ah! No, it’s— Come in, seriously.”

Finally, she agreed to it. The cold got to her. It was all right; he didn’t like the cold either.

Hugh rushed to turn on the light. Georgia closed the window and pulled the curtains.

He immediately regretted not cleaning his room a little better. It wasn’t that messy, but it definitely could be better. Girls were more delicate with that stuff, weren’t they?

At least it wasn’t Simon’s room.

She looked at the drawings and then to her right. “Is that... the comic?” and pointed to a bunch of comics he had on his nightstand.

The comic. He knew what she was talking about.

“That is the one,” he replied. He took it and showed her the broken back cover. “See?” Georgia shuddered. Hugh doubted it was because of the cold, but he asked her anyway, “Would you like me to give you an extra jacket?”

“No, I mean... I’m fine,” she muttered. “It’s just... well, this afternoon was pretty crazy, wasn’t it?”

Pretty crazy didn’t even begin to describe how the afternoon had been.

But Hugh didn’t have the time or the words to explain it to her. He wished he did though.

“It was pretty crazy,” he recognized. “Were you scared?”

She took the comic book and started flipping through it. “But tell me... what are these comics about?”

Hugh sat next to her. “They’re about this guy Aaron who has hydrokinesis-powers.”

“He controls the water?”

“Yep. He is a prodigy. Although they never say that word in the entire comic book.” Georgia nodded, interested in that detail. “And he hides it from everyone. But then one day he goes to the beach, he meets a mysterious old man who gives him a silver spear because he is the chosen one who’ll save the world of the ocean and the land. Wonder Man accepts and every time he takes the spear and says the magic words, the spear gives him a super-suit and his powers become stronger. And all goes well during the first numbers, until at the end of the number before this one—” he raised the comic book over his head “—that old man, who became his tutor, reveals to him something... shocking.”

Hugh went quiet all of a sudden. He forgot he didn’t know if Georgia wanted him to tell her everything or if she was just being nice.

But Georgia looked genuinely intrigued. “What happened?” she asked, frowning. “What was the shocking revelation?”

I can see you like mysteries, lady.

“Ah, well... Wonder Man wasn’t the chosen one,” he replied, raising his feet to the bed. “There are many other people like him all over the world. Only that he was the first to accept the proposal.”

Georgia covered her mouth with one hand. “Wow. Brutal.”

“Yes, he didn’t take it well,” Hugh continued. “He felt betrayed because now there was nothing to make him special. And that made him miserable so he stopped being Wonder Man. But then Ace Anarchy came out of the darkness—”

“Ace Anarchy?” Georgia asked.

She wasn’t confused at all. She was... nervous.

Although less than a normal person would be if they heard that infamous name.

Interesting.

“Yes, the one and only,” he said quietly. “And he went and killed his tutor. Wonder Man found him when he was bleeding out on the floor. His tutor apologized for lying to him.”

“But... why did he lie to him?” she wanted to know. “Why didn’t he tell him the truth from the start?”

Hugh remembered the page number where that happened. He looked for it and read it out loud. “I wanted to know if you had what it took to be a hero, Aaron. I had to know.”

Georgia took the comic.

“And do I?” she asked reading Wonder Man’s dialogue.

Hugh felt chills. That question had felt so real.

He didn’t need to read from the comic book to know what followed that line. “That’s a question you need to answer by yourself, Aaron. Do you have what it takes to be a hero?”

Georgia turned the page and Hugh was able to visualize perfectly what she was seeing because it was something he had seen hundreds of times since he had bought that number.

Wonder Man stood up and came out of the cave where his tutor lived, with his spear covered in the blood. He lifted it to the moon and the waves of the sea began to rise.

“And here it says: 'Yes, I do'” Georgia read. She closed the comic book somewhat violently. “It doesn’t make sense. What a stupid mystery.”

Hugh was slightly offended. Just... slightly . “Why do you say that?”

“How did he know he has what it takes to be a hero?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, shrugging. “He just… knew.”

Georgia sighed. That wasn't the answer she was expecting and Hugh knew it. But he wasn't quite sure what else to say to her.

He supposed they were going to explain it in the next number. Only there was never going to be a next number.

Hugh wasn't going to lie: he felt a little bad that he couldn't give Georgia an explanation. He couldn't even give it to himself.

“How did you know you have what it takes to be a hero?”

He turned to see her. Had he heard her right?

Since Georgia didn't say anything else, he assumed he did.

Yes, he had heard right.

A few hours ago, he would have been more flattered than ever. But in those moments, he just said, “Me? I don't think I am a hero. I think you are though.”

“Me a hero?!” she asked. She also wanted to make sure she was listening well. “Really?”

Well, at least she was flattered “Really!” Hugh assured her. “You came all this way to give me back my notebook, and you fixed my drawing, and you talked to me ... That is pretty heroic.”

“Well, that's funny because... seriously, I think you are the hero here.”

Hugh was still asking the same question. “But why?”

“You stood up to those villains this afternoon!” Georgia exclaimed pointing at him. “You were the only one who said no to them and who wasn’t scared of them at all. That is pretty heroic.”

Hugh was overcome by the urge to smile. Georgia smiled more, showing that she wasn't backing off her words.

Well… he had to admit that maybe there was something heroic about what he had done, even if it didn’t go the way he wanted.

However, he couldn't take all the credit.

“Maybe we're both heroic.”

“You think so?”

Was she starting to stop believing it?

Not on my watch.

"I think so," he replied, grabbing his pillow and putting it on his lap. Distracted, he began to fiddle with the thread from his gray-striped sheath. “I have a friend. He's pretty heroic too. It’s just that… he can’t see himself as such.”

But I believe in him for both of us.

“I get that friend of yours,” she replied. “Sometimes things are not that simple. I also have a friend who doesn’t see herself the way I see her.”

“As someone heroic?” he wanted to know.

Georgia thought about it for a bit and then just smiled. “Yeah, let's put it that way.”

He wondered if it would be wise to ask her a little more about it but immediately imagined Simon next to him kicking him to shut him up in the most discreet way he could think of.

“Do you know if he beat Ace Anarchy in the end?” she asked.

Hugh shook his head with an apologetic smile. Although he knew it wasn't his fault he couldn't beat him.

The only one responsible for Wonder Man not being able to defeat Ace Anarchy… was Ace Anarchy himself.

“I imagined it, ” Georgia murmured. “But—”

She bit her lip before finishing the sentence.

Do you want to say what I think you want to say?

He moved a little closer to her. “But what?”

Georgia looked him straight in the eye. She had a huge hopeful smile when she asked:

“But what if we did?”

Thinking about it was one thing.

But hearing someone else say it, with the same desire to believe it as him, was something a thousand times better.

He threw the pillow on the floor and took Georgia by the shoulders. “That was exactly what I was gonna say!” he exclaimed.

He immediately reminded himself to lower his voice. He didn't want to wake his aunt up.

Hugh removed his hands from Georgia's shoulders and hid them behind him. Georgia was kind of amused.

She stifled her laughter with her hand. “Jinx,” and she offered him her pinky.

Hugh found that gesture adorable. Girls are really nice. “Jinx,” and laced his pinky through hers. “No, but seriously, do you really think so?”

He just wanted to make sure one last time. Just one last time before he completely believed in her.

She got serious again. “I want to believe someone has to do something about it,” she sighed. “And I am tired of never being that someone. I want to be that someone. I want to do something about it.”

Yes. Yes to everything you say, Georgia. It is true.

I also think that.

“Me too, Georgia, me too!” he exclaimed, putting his hand on her fist. “Georgia, I also want to be that someone! We could be that someone! The three of us!”

Her smile didn't fade, but it tensed a bit. “Three?”

“My friend. I'm including my friend,” he explained.

Georgia relaxed. “Oh sure, sure. Okay, but we're going to be four because I'm including my friend too.”

“Perfect! The more the merrier.”

And he meant it.

Four prodigies against Ace Anarchy.

Suddenly, things didn't look so complicated.

“So… are you saying we can like… get together here to plan our next move against this cruel world?” Georgia asked him.

Hugh was about to say "yes" when he remembered his aunt. If she found four people gathered in her living room, Hugh would have to give a lot of explanations that he wasn't prepared to give.

Hello, aunt, we are planning to destroy the status quo.

She would surely laugh at them, tell them to stop trying to be heroes, and kick out Simon, Georgia, and their friend. And Hugh would never get the chance to be a hero again.

He loved his family very much. But he couldn't risk his chance like that.

Someday he was going to tell her. However, for the moment it was better to keep the secret.

He could keep a secret.

But then where are we going to meet?

A light bulb went on above his head.

That place was perfect.

“Yes, we’re getting together to plan our next move against this cruel world,” he replied, getting off the bed. "Just not here”

He took a pen and tore a page out of his notebook. Georgia tried to look over her shoulder as he wrote down an address. Then it occurred to him that perhaps he could give her a… little gift.

To thank her for returning his things.

He drew a quick doodle of Wonder Man smiling at them, doing finger guns with one hand and holding the silver spear in the other. A text bubble came out of his mouth, asking them: "Do you have what it takes to be a hero?"

Hugh knew they did.

Even if he wasn't sure what it was.

He quickly wrote “This Friday, 6:30 am” and handed the folded paper to Georgia. “4480 Atha Drive,” she read. “It's pretty close from here.”

"Yeah, it's my friend's address,” he answered. “I bet he won’t mind. His dad leaves his house before we go to school. So we’ll be safe.”

Georgia stared at the paper, looking at it a little… worried. “Hugh... you are going to be there, aren't you?”

Hugh scoffed. “Why wouldn't I?”

She shrugged.

“Would you like a guarantee? Because… Look—” he took his blue hoodie from over the chair and handed it to her “—my favorite and only hoodie. It is very warm, although it does not seem like it. Maybe more than yours. Put it on, and that way you won't get a cold when you get home. You can return it to me when we meet again.”

Georgia put it on. It fitted her perfectly. “How chivalrous of you,” she said. “I'll give back to you on Friday then.”

“Friday will be.”

On Friday. Everything was going to change on Friday.

Everything was finally going to change.

Georgia stood up and floated to the window. Hugh stared at her from his bed.

“Hey,” he called her. When she turned around, he offered her his pinky. “We're going to be heroes, lady. I believe in us.”

Before leaving, Georgia laced her pinky through his, looking at their joined hands as if they were the most precious thing in the world. “I believe in us too, captain. I believe in us too.”

And how good it felt to have someone by his side that believe in them as much as he did.

#renegades #archenemies #supernova #renegades trilogy #georgia rawles #hugh everhart #OG renegades #rise of the renegades #ao3 #fic #the gays and the girls are going to change the world

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riverboundao3ff · 4 years

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Riverbound Chapter 7

You are THE GUARDIAN, which is kind of unfortunate because you’re currently face down and up to your chest in a medicalizer, which has clamped down on your torso so hard you think you’re going to throw up. It’s not like you’re not grateful for the opportunity to heal your broken ribs, but feeling the machine forcefully fuse the bone and muscle back together is not a pleasant experience. Even advanced technology has its setbacks, you suppose.

“If it hurts too much, we can take a break.”

You look up to Mallek, who is sitting beside you like a very anxious guard dog. Somebody put a big plastic bowl underneath you in case you puke, but you guess he wants to be ready to either hold your hair up like a drunk sorority girl at a party or pull you out of the medicalizer.

You manage a wheezy laugh. “Nah, I don’t feel pain. I’m a robot, remember?”

An unhappy whine rises up from the back of Mallek’s throat, kind of like a stressed cat. “These things can suck even for highbloods. Are you sure?”

“Yeah, dude. I just--” Something clicks back into place in your side, and your vision goes fuzzy for a couple seconds. “Augh. Just need to be uncomfortable for a little while longer. I’m not running around Thrashthrust with broken ribs any longer than, than I have to, oh shit.”

Your stomach rolls like a fighter jet and you let loose into the strategically placed bowl beneath you. Hey look, there’s the grubflakes you ate for breakfast.

Mallek grimaces, and you feel a cool hand rubbing circles into your upper back. You turn your attention towards breathing in and out, in and out, just focusing on the physical contact. It’s only a little after midnight but you’re already exhausted. The painkillers Lynera gave you early in the evening have long since worn off.

“What happened to you?” you hear him whisper.

You force your eyes back open. “Daraya already told you? I got thrown into a tree by a goddamn cholerbear. Nasty sonuva bitch.”

“No, I know that! Why did you disappear for like, half a sweep?” he demanded.

His voice cracks about halfway through, and guilt hits you like a sucker punch. You just want to see him smile again. Granted, you’re looking down at the bowl-o’-puke instead of your friend, but you don’t really have the strength to do anything else.

“Long story short, I got kidnapped. Made some new friends to cope. Escaped, made sure my new friends were okay, and then I came back here. I’ll tell you the full version when I’m not on the verge of passing out,” you explain.

“Kidnapped?” Mallek explodes. “The hell you mean, kidnapped?!”

You wince at the noise and reach out to pat his knee. “Sshhhhhhhh. Shhhh. Calm down. It’s fine now. Be calm.”

His face lights up blue. It’s only then you remember telling that shushing a troll is considered lowkey sexy or something. Whoops.

“I would never leave you on purpose, Mallek,” you say, quickly pulling away before it can get weird. “Or… or anybody. Okay?”

“... Okay,” he mumbles.

You smile encouragingly at him. He grabs your hand and squeezes it. It would have been a really sweet moment, except you’re sweaty and shaky and everything stinks like vomit. You can’t imagine how much it must reek to Mallek and his better sense of smell.

The both of you stay like that for a few more minutes, and then the medicalizer goes off with a sharp buzz and releases your torso from its clamps. You immediately inhale as much as you possibly can, groaning with relief when there was no more stabbing pain. There’s still a bit of soreness; a medicalizer can only do so much for bruising, but by all the horrorterrors have you missed breathing like a regular person.

“How’s it feel?” Mallek asks. You can feel the anxiety coming off him in waves.

“So much better.” You’d fall asleep right there and then if he gave you the chance, but you feel him gently grab your hands and pull you out of the medicalizer. A pair of strong arms lift you up, carry you a short distance away, and then set you back down on a sofa.

You accidentally let out a squeak when you feel a chilly finger poke your stitches.

“Sorry.”

“Nah, you’re good. You’re just cold.”

Mallek huffs and touches the scarred-over gash again. “The medicalizer took care of this big wound right here, but the stitches need to come out. I don’t know how, though.”

The fun never ends. “Lanque did ‘em.”

“I’ll go get him. Be right back,” he promises. You hear him jump to his feet and leave the room, the door creaking slightly on his way out. Downstairs, you can hear your friends discussing something, most likely Tyzias and Daraya cooking up a crazy new plan for the rebellion.

You can’t wait to join them and help save the planet. Vriska’s demand that you return in ten nights is a constant reminder of what you came here to do, but it also makes you nervous about the inevitable teleporting you’ll need to do. What if you messed up and ended up somewhere you shouldn’t? Causing a paradox wouldn’t just screw up your mission, it could ruin the fabric of reality. That fear kept you from so much as doing a measly little jump down the mountainside when you left the caverns.

Having powers was handy, sure, but sometimes it made everything, like, a thousand times more stressful than it actually had to be.

The thumping of footsteps up the stairs gives you the distraction you need to calm down. You crack open an eye in time to see Mallek and Lanque striding in.

“Hey,” you croak.

“Damn, Adalov, did you have it up in the highest setting?” Lanque mutters, turning from you to Mallek with his arms crossed. He doesn’t look very happy with what he sees.

“Medicalizers are made for trolls, not aliens,” Mallek shoots back. “You know they hurt.”

“That thing was old when you let me use it.”

“I’m sorry, did you know any other highbloods with top-notch medicalizers that could do that surgery you wanted? I don’t think so, fucker.”

“Boys, can we save the pitch stuff for later? I want these stitches out so I don’t have to keep laying around like a dead body,” you growl.

Mallek and Lanque glance back at you, both looking a little sheepish, before Mallek slinks away to sit down at your feet while muttering something about never being pitch for pretentious assholes who can’t even wear their jackets right. Lanque messes around with a few first aid kits on the shelf beside the medicalizer before finding what he’s looking for-- a small scalpel and a pair of tweezers.

“Alright, you know the drill. Off with the sports bra,” he orders.

You groan but obey, pausing with your hand through one of the straps when you notice another pair of wide eyes on you. “Mallek. Turn around, my guy.”

A very interesting squeaky noise escapes Mallek’s chest before he turns around and all but slithers over the armrest he was leaning on. You hear him hit the floor with a thump. Lanque rolls his eyes.

“You two know each other?” you ask as you flip over to lay on your stomach.

“We’ve met a few times, yes,” Lanque confirms, kneeling down to start picking at the stitches with the scalpel. The way he says it makes you suspect there was a lot more to the story than he was letting on. “Have you already told Mallek everything?”

That was Lanque’s way of saying “Let’s change the subject”, so you let it go. “Not… everything. Are you listening, Mallek?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, because I only want to explain this once. Basically, the multiverse is a whole lot more complicated than anybody knows, and there are a lot of… powerful beings out there that like to meddle. Like, with timelines, and universes, and that kind of stuff. Are you following me?”

“I… okay?”

“So basically, this fucker called Doc Scratch is one of these god things, and he was using me to control his timeline… area… whatever. That’s why I was running around Alternia before I left, because I guess I had to help bring certain people together for the timeline to work? I don’t know. Anyways, he kidnaps me when he’s done making me do his business and makes me read this fucked up comic in his own fucked up dimension, which is also on one of your moons. Long story short, the comic’s about some other friends I made and the shit they get into in another timeline. Eventually I manage to escape from Doc Scratch with only moderate trauma. Yay, me. How are we doing so far?”

You can’t see him, which is probably a good thing. “You… the multiverse and the… okay, sure. Why not.”

“I end up on Alternia again, but in the future, and then Earth, which is my home planet. Well, not that exact version of Earth, but whatever. I end up befriending all these kids and try to help them lead better lives than they would originally in this other timeline where they all play a game that destroys the universe. I should also mention that Doc Scratch somehow wiped my memories before I escaped, so until I meet this cool chick called Aradia I… had completely forgotten about you guys.” You swallow back the lump in your throat and try to focus on Lanque pulling out your stitches. It stings.

“The last kid I made friends with was this boy called Dirk. Good kid. So we’re hanging out, and this other version of Dirk rocks up from another universe, and this bastard is a kind of god called an… Ultimate Self, I think. He tries to stop me from rewriting the timeline and then tries to kill me or whatever. I get away from him and manage to…” Crap, how do you explain this part without telling your friends you created an entire universe? “I get him to go home and leave me and the kids alone. He can’t hurt us if he’s in his own universe. After all of that I wanted to come back to see you guys again. So I did.”

Like before, you don’t mention the Director, or the little showdown between you, her, and Ultimate Dirk in Doc Scratch’s mansion. You definitely don’t tell them you’re here to help them win the rebellion. You remind yourself you’re not lying to them, you’re just… not telling them everything. To protect them.

Yeah.

“What worries me is this Scratch character,” Lanque mutters. “You said that Ultimate Self god went back to his own universe, but if Scratch still has influence over our reality…”

“I… have no idea about Scratch,” you say truthfully.

“What is he, exactly?”

You release a long sigh. “Every planet with intelligent life has a thing called a First Guardian to guide it and its people to their destinies. Timelines can have Guardians too, I think? I know that sometimes entire universes have Guardians. They keep time and space in order, basically.”

“... If this universe has a First Guardian, why can’t it go beat Scratch’s ass?” Mallek jokes.

It’s a good question, and you know he’s just trying to lighten the mood, but it still fills you with misery, anger, and a fear so powerful you almost start shaking. If… when you meet Scratch again, what will you do? Would you be able to fight him? Protect your friends from him?

If your friends knew who you really are, would they still care about you?

“That’s something I would love to see, believe me,” you manage to say.

“I’m so sorry that all of that happened to you. It’s so fucked up,” Mallek says hoarsely. “I was so pissed that you were gone. I just spent six perigees of my life thinking one of the best friends I ever had was dead and I didn’t even stop to consider that they might be having it even worse.”

“It’s not your fault. Grief makes people do and feel weird shit,” you assure him. You’re trying not to cry yourself, because you’re half-naked with a super hot guy pulling out your stitches and another hot guy hiding behind the sofa. Your life is a lot of things but boring is not one of them.

Your pain tolerance must be through the roof by now, because you don’t even feel it when Lanque pulls out the last couple threads. “All done.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Thanks, Lanque.”

He pats your back. “Come join us downstairs when you’re ready. Tyzias has something I think you’d be interested in.”

Your tiredness instantly fades away. “Oh?”

“You can’t be serious, Bombyx. They’re still recovering,” Mallek protests.

“Then get off your privileged highblood ass and come with us,” Lanque calls over his shoulder as he saunters out the door.

Mallek yelps and dives back behind the sofa when you hop up to get dressed. Your shirt was slung over the desk chair, which you gladly yank back on over your bra as you start to shiver. Mallek’s place was always pretty chilly since he ran cold, so you’d always have to bundle up a bit when you came over to hang.

“Alright, I’m decent. My pasty white ass won’t blind you anymore,” you tell him.

“You’re more of a really pale… pinkish tawny?” he notes, tossing you your hoodie.

You decide you’d explain the different ethnic and racial categories humans have to him later. “Yeah, sure. Thanks for letting me use the medicalizer.”

“Duh. I don’t let my friends run around with broken ribs,” Mallek snorts. “Yours sure break a lot, though. Maybe I should just stick you back in there from time to time, just in case.”

You pretend to chuck the puke bowl at him and cackle when he instinctively dodges. Once upon a time, you might have told him that human vomit is acidic. Granted, it definitely is; you can feel your throat and tongue burning like a bitch, but you never specified that it wasn’t deadly or anything.

“Just put it in the load gaper!” he begs, and you laugh as you follow him down to the bathroom. You forgot how much fun it was to fuck around with him. Maybe you’d introduce him to Kuprum and Folykl, you just know that the three of them in one room would be the best thing that ever happened. That, or they’d all kill each other. Those kinds of things could be a little difficult to predict with trolls.

The puke bowl gets cleaned with water, soap, and a lot of vigorous scrubbing. Your hands get the same treatment. Once you gulp down some water and splash your face in the sink, you turn, only to realize Mallek is staring at you again. His eyes are much more blue than when you last saw him. He’s an inch or two taller as well.

“... Yeah?” you ask. Did you have vomit on your face? Fuck.

All at once, Mallek wraps you up in a hug that leaves you breathless. You hug him back instinctively, and then really go all in when you feel him shaking ever so slightly against you. He smells like chips and something vaguely smoky.

Neither of you say anything for a while. There’s something incredibly fragile in the air, and it warms you from the inside out and fills you with worry.

“I missed you,” he mumbles into your hair.

“I missed you too. So much.”

“... You don’t have to join in on whatever crazy shit they’re cooking up down there.” He chuckles nervously. “Really. You can just… I dunno. Stay with me, if you want?”

You bump your head against his chest and gently squeeze his arms. “Mallek. The world is going to change, and I want to be a part of it. Don’t you?”

“I don’t want you to die.”

You reach up to gently cup his cheek. “I’ve died before. It’s not so bad, really.”

Mallek leans into the contact, looking at everything but at you. You let yourself be held by him for a little while longer before pulling away. He doesn’t say anything else, but he does follow you down the stairs to the rest of the group.

You grin at Tyzias when she looks up at you, hopeful. “So whose lives are we gonna ruin tonight?”

#hiveswap #Hiveswap Friendsim trolls #homestuck #pesterquest #MSPA reader #The Guardian #riverbound #jadebloods #teals #AND MALLEK #lol

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 4 years

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Psycho Analysis: Roman Sionis

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Birds of Prey is a fun, silly movie. So you’d expect a fun, silly villain for such a film, right? Well, we sort of get that… but this is an R-rated fun, silly movie, so the villain is going to cuss a lot and peel people’s faces off and be a raging psychopathic manchild. Roman Sionis, everybody!

Good old Roman Sionis, known to comic fans as Black Mask (he isn’t ever called that by anyone except Harley during his introduction, and he doesn’t even wear his mask until the end), is just an absolute raging lunatic. He gets mad at the drop of a hat, is creepily posessive of Dinah Lance, has a very close relationship with his murderous second-in-command Zsasz, and is just generally unpleasant to every single person who crosses his path.

But that’s par for the course for Roman Sionis, who is never really EVER portrayed as a charming, likable guy. The real question here is, is he an entertaining villain? Well he’s played by Ewan McGregor, what do YOU think?

Motivation/Goals: Roman is a relatively simple villain, but I think this works in his favor. You see, a big issue with Harley’s previous outing, Suicide Squad, is that the mission was way too high stakes despite the cast featuring a group of people who didn’t really have any powers beyond “fighting really good.” or “has weapon skills.” You’re telling me you’re gonna put Harley Quinn, Deadshot, and Captain Boomerang up against Enchantress and her army of ancient Aztec super-zombies? WHAT? Here, we have a street-level threat much more suited to Harley’s capabilities: Roman is just a very powerful gangster, and his goal in this movie is the simple “get this diamond that was stolen back to me so I can make fat stacks of cash.” That’s really all their needs to be here, a simple MacGuffin to drive along the plot to its various setpieces.

Performance: I love Ewan McGregor, so, really, he didn’t have to do much with the role of Roman Sionis to make him great. Still, this man went above and beyond despite having comparatively little screentime to Harley. Roman seems incapable of going a single sentence without cursing up a storm and is the epitome of a psychopathic manchild, tormenting people for the slightest of reasons. He forces a woman to strip and dance on one of his tables because she was laughing too loud when he was upset, and decides not to spare a girl’s life because she had a gross snot bubble on her face from sobbing while he had his crony Zsasz peel off her parents’ faces. As funny and hammy as he gets, the dude is a stone-cold ruthless bastard who has no line he won’t cross to get what he wants.

Final Fate: Cass hides a grenade on him and steals the ring, and then Harley kicks him off the pier while he panics. Before he even hits the water, BOOM! Never would I have expected to laugh out loud at the sight of Ewan McGregor being blown into bits, but this movie was just full of surprises.

Best Scene: I think that the honor has to go to his establishing character moment with Zsasz, as they cut off the faces of a family who crossed Roman, and then when Roman decides to spare the daughter, he notices snot on her face, says “Ew” like a petulant child, and has Zsasz cut her face off anyway. It’s a great way to establish that Roman is an awful human being no matter how you slice it, and firmly establishes that while, yes, he is a misogynist villain in a female-led blockbuster, his misogyny is just a tiny facet of how unabashedly terrible Roman is.

Final Thoughts & Score: So, this is gonna sound weird, but… Roman kinda reminded me of Justin Hammer. Hammer is a villain who I have greatly warmed to over time (mostly thanks to Nando V Movies on YouTube), to the point where I think he’s actually pretty funny but is held back from true greatness by the sloppy nature of Iron Man 2. The film was big, bloated, and didn’t know what to do with itself. And this film is KIND OF like that… but it knows what to do with Roman.

The movie has an undercurrent of female empowerment, so why not make the villain emblematic of things women have to overcome? Roman is creepy, misogynistic, and even a bit racist especially with his condescending actions towards Dinah. And he even throws a fit when she “betrays” him and decides to murder her. But the movie is smart so as to not make this hamfisted; the movie makes it entirely clear that even if you take away his misogynistic elements, Roman Sionis is just an utterly disgusting human being. Everything about him is just so hilariously vulgar and repulsive, but the way he’s performed helps lighten it and help keep him within the tone of the movie. He’s just dark enough and just hammy enough to work.

My big issues with Roman are mostly due to his utilization and the wasted potential, which is a problem that really hits a lot of stuff in Birds of Prey. He is great every time he’s onscreen, but his screentime is fairly limited, and then he dies at the end which robs him of any chance of coming back in the future as an antagonist. He actually functions great as a more grounded threat rather than some larger-than-life end of the world threat, but the fact he dies horribly – before even having his mask burned onto his face, even! - just kind of feels like a waste of a character. To be fair, Black Mask is not the best or most interesting Batman villain crime lord; we have the Penguin for that. But when you cast someone like Ewan McGregor and he’s clearly having a blast, it’s hard not to feel at least slightly bitter when he gets hilariously gibbed at the end.

Still, I can’t let Justin Hammer’s sacrifice go in vain; he walked so Roman could run, and Roman ran so that perhaps someday Hammer could sprint. Roman gets a nice, fat 8/10, which he definitely earns with the heaping helpings of ham he brings to the table, though he is held back at least a little by the wasted potential of his character.

But hey, if you want to talk about wasted potential…

Psycho Analysis: Victor Zsasz

I really like Victor Zsasz in this film. I really do. The angle they went with, the implied homosexuality, the actor… it’s all good stuff that helps make a disturbing character like Zsasz easier to swallow. But he gets hit with wasted potential harder than even Roman does.

Motivation/Goals: He’s Roman’s right-hand man, so basically his motivation is to do whatever Roman wants him to do. However, there is a bit of an implied thing between his boss and him; Zsasz seems undeniably irritated with the attention he lavishes on Dinah, and is very hands-on and affectionate with his boss. A lot of his later actions in the film and his cruelty towards Dinah does seem to stem from some place of anger towards her for taking Roman’s attention away from him.

Performance: I have to say, Chris Messina does a stellar job at portraying Zsasz as creepy and obsessive, and certainly showcases the fanatical loyalty he has towards Roman, making him something of a dark mirror to Harley’s former relationship with the Joker. I also appreciate that, despite not going with Zsasz’s original psychotic serial killer angle, they still made him a bloodthirsty psycho with a sort of nihilistic edge to him. Frankly, this might be the best possible take on a live-action Zsasz without things getting intensely uncomfortable.

Final Fate: This is probably the worst element of Zsasz: his death. Right before the climax he gets shot out of the blue by Huntress and then Harley just repeatedly stabs him with the arrow. And I have to make it clear here – Zsasz barely got to do anything. He never really poses any sort of physical threats to the heroines, never gets into a fight, and is never mentioned again after his death despite being very close to Roman (to the point where the two may have been lovers).

Final Thoughts & Score: As far as henchmen go, Zsasz is pretty solid conceptually. He’s established early on as a psychopathic enforcer of Roman’s gang, he has an eerie air to him, and he has a lot of elements from the comics you rarely see on Zsasz in other media, such as being blonde. Messina does a fantastic job at making the character seem like a competent killer in the employ of Roman.

But the key word is “seem,” because Zsasz frankly never lives up to his hype. Despite being introduced peeling the faces off of a family, he is just never utilized to his fullest extent. He’s kind of just there in a lot of scenes, and while he isn’t unmemorable or anything he never really does anything that makes him into a worthwhile addition to the franchise. He’s honestly just a glorified mook with a few interesting gimmicks to help set him apart.

I’ve gotta give him a 6/10. While he’s definitely a step above average, he’s really not anything amazing, mostly because the movie refuses to allow him to reach his full potential. He doesn’t have any great quotes, his most memorable scene really serves more to establish Roman than anything, and he is dumped and quickly forgotten right before the climax. He would easily be a 7 or 8 if the story treated him with a little more weight or respect, but he just ends up underwhelming despite having so much going for him, and it’s frankly a bit depressing. It’s just a very sad state of affairs for the character, especially when he managed to be more intimidating in the Arkham games despite the fact that he posed even less of a physical threat than he does here.

Well, while we’re here, let’s go over THAT Zsasz briefly.

Portrayed in the games by Danny Jacobs (who you may know as Sacha Baron Cohen's stand in on The Penguins of Madagascar. Yes, Zsasz and King Julien had the same voice actor.), Zsasz is never really a major antagonist and is, in all honesty, a pretty weak fighter; you can always take him down in one punch. The thing with Zsasz in the games, though, is that it’s always tricky to get to him, because he usually has hostages of some kind. In Arkham Asylum, he appears twice, and you need to use stealth to take him out before he kills his hostages. In City, he gets a much longer sidequest where he requires you to pick up ringing telephones and then glide to another one across the city within a time limit. Once you’ve listened to all of his messages, Batman finds out where his lair is, sneaks through it, and whoops his ass.

I certainly can’t say he’s the best villain in either game he appears in, but he’s definitely scary. His messages and game over screens are really freaky and unnerving, and the Riddler even requires you to find some of Zsasz’s work as parts of riddles… and by “work” I am of course referring to corpses posed in life-like positions. There’s also the horrifying little tidbit that in City, Zsasz actually does kill one of his hostages and there’s nothing that can be done about it; if you switch to detective mode in his lair, you can see a corpse at the bottom of the water in the room.

I think how creepy and intense he is really helps make him stand out among the more colorful characters in those games like Joker, Clayface, and Riddler, so I think giving him a nice 8/10 for his appearances is well-earned. I feel like Birds of Prey could have learned a few lessons from this portrayal; if they wanted to make him more creepy than physically intimidating, that could have worked well and it would have made his anti-climactic defeat a bit more plausible. Instead, they kind of tried this middle ground where he’s creepy enough and intimidating enough physically that it just feels like a letdown when he’s offed.

Oh yeah, did you know he appeared in Batman Begins? He had a brief cameo and didn’t do anything significant and looked like this:

Pretty sure he’d get a low score if he wasn’t just a quick little reference.

#Psycho Analysis #Roman Sionis #Birds of Prey #birds of prey (and the fantabulous emancipation of one harley quinn)#Ewan McGregor #victor zsasz #Chris Messina #Danny Jacobs #Arkham series #Batman

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thewritingdungeon · 4 years

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Discordancy #1

SUMMARY: Hawkeye has a long and varied past. He’s been a carnie, a spy, a superhero, even a brainwashed soldier. He also was, no matter how much he hates to admit it, an ex-criminal. It’s a part of his past he moved on from long ago and hoped he could just forget ever happened. But when an old associate contacts him for help, Clint is reminded that not everything he had so desperately tried to leave behind was something bad.

CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Clint Barton/OFC

WORD COUNT: 2,590

WARNINGS: heavy petting

"I can't believe that worked, you beautiful bastard!" Eris cries out, draping herself in the passenger seat. "That was such a rush, I could kiss you right now!"

Clint gives an easy smile in response, leaning back now that he has the luxury of driving slower. "By all means, don't fight it if you—"

The rest of his words are lost as his face is abruptly turned and his mouth covered by soft lips pressing eagerly against his. His lips part in silent surprise, and Eris takes the opportunity to dart her tongue in to swipe against his, bringing with it a taste of smoke and cinnamon he somehow finds intoxicating. But before he can register her actions enough to kiss back, Eris is pulling away, a grin on her lips and fire in her eyes.

He should have known right then and there that she'd be trouble for him.

Clint shook the memory off as he looked up at the nondescript hotel looming above him then back down at the text that had made its way onto his phone.

Hey Francis,

Long time, no chat! Just thought I'd see how you've been doing. How's the wife? Everest is lonely without your jokes, but I'm still climbing it!

-X

It was a code he hadn't seen in a long time. Her code. She had even signed it with her usual kiss.

'Need help Ronin. Meet at hotel.'

He never thought he'd step foot back in such a place after SHIELD took him in—never thought he'd be allowed to step foot back in—but he could already feel that warm familiarity slip over him like a well-worn jacket as he stepped into the polished lobby, old habits making their way back into his gait.

"Good evening, Ronin," The Concierge warmly greeted. "It has been quite the long time since we have seen you around here. We are pleased to see you make use of our services once again."

"Evening, sir. It's, uh," Clint huffed out in incredulity, and the man's smile only grew more smug, "it sure is interesting to be back."

"And how may we help you this evening?"

Clint scratched at his chin. "Ah, I'm here to find an old friend, actually." He held up his hands in a gesture of good will at the sharp look in The Concierge's eye. "Don't you worry, I know the rules. Just looking for a drink and a chat, I swear."

The Concierge hummed noncommittally, flipping through his ledger. "Well, you're in luck that a room has already been reserved in your name, though payment will still be required." There was a slap of folded notes on the marble surface, but the man made no acknowledgement. "And you have a booth reserved in the lounge for midnight. We trust you can find your way there?"

"Mm, yeah. Thanks, man."

Clint made to take the offered room key, and was given one last unsettling smile by The Concierge. "Welcome back to Hotel Soteria, Ronin. Do let us know if you find yourself in need of any assistance."

The lounge was dim, lit sporadically with shifting colored lights meant to distract and obfuscate. There was no host to tell him which booth he was intended for, but a familiar shine of icy waves flashed through the milling crowd and gave Clint his answer. Taking quick steps forward, he left himself with no time to second guess his actions as he slid into the booth.

"You changed your hair."

He drank in the sight of the woman before him, trying his damnedest not to let the spark of familiarity burn into something more illicit. Where before had been wild white locks in a disheveled undercut, bold makeup and piercings, and a 'fuck you' attitude so common amongst rebellious youth, now stood messy silver-white waves cut sharp, with subtlety and daring balanced out in what combined into an impossibly alluring form.

And yet it was still that avid, easy grin tugging at dark, painted lips that met his words and stole his attention. "Aren't men your age supposed to start a flirtation with 'what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?' If you're not careful, I might start thinking you didn't miss me, Ronin."

Clint couldn't help but snort and roll his eyes at her greeting, "You got rid of the lip ring too."

"Aw, sad that it's gone?"

"Shouldn't you be flirting with people your own age?"

That pulled a sharp laugh from the woman, "Where would be the fun in that?"

Clint sighed; he had forgotten how...whimsical Eris could be. It was a fun trait to be around in the past, but the world had made him weary, jaded. There was no real place for exuberance in a spy's life. He didn't know how to deal with it anymore. "Get to the point, Eris. Why did you bring me here?"

A slow smile spread across her face, and Eris leaned forward, voice a husky whisper, "I've got something I think you'll really want to get a hold of."

Clint had been so wrapped up in not staring at her that he didn't quite grasp what Eris had intended when she told him she had something for him. It wasn't until he felt the heat of her slide onto his lap to straddle him that Clint realized the trouble he was in.

Rough, half-gloved hands cupped his face as Eris leaned down to press an eager kiss to his lips. His mind went blank, arousal and habit taking over to urge his mouth to move against hers. He dragged her closer by her hips, earning him a gasp that let him slip his tongue inside to explore her mouth. Clint smirked into the kiss; it was rare he was able to surprise the chaotic woman.

He buried a hand into her hair, letting him control their movements and deepen the kiss as Eris's touch burned a trail down his chest. His advantage was quickly lost, however, when she dipped a hand into the waistband of both his jeans and underwear, careful to keep away from where he suddenly found himself wanting her touch the most. A ragged moan escaped Clint from the combination of that teasing brush and the harsh bite to his lower lip.

"I'll wait up for you," she whispered, placing another short peck against his swollen lips.

And then the warmth of her body was gone. Clint blinked as he tried to understand what had just happened, but Eris had already disappeared.

"Damn girl's trying to give me a heart attack with her games, I swear," he groaned. "Can't she just leave an old man alone?"

Taking a moment to adjust himself, Clint palmed the flash drive Eris had slipped into his pants, moving it to a more secure location with the sly tricks years spent in the circus had taught him. He tipped back his beer and waited, looking as much like a man who had just been teased as any around him. All he needed to do was keep blending in a little bit more; then, he could escape to his room and see what the job was that awaited him.

Clint locked the door of his hotel room, slumping forward to lean his head against the polished wood with a frustrated groan. Why, of all the people he had teamed up with in his past, did it have to have been Eris that made contact with him again?

He thought back to all the jobs they had pulled off together. The bright, brilliant, chaotic demolitions prodigy who lived up to her alias was a surprising complement to his pinpoint efficiency as a marksman and hired sword. She was an explosion unto herself, and at only age 18, she truly had been a force to be reckoned with. So why she had taken after that first heist to teasing and flirting with a man over ten years her senior, Clint would never understand.

His mind brought up flashes of moments witnessed firsthand of how she liked to play with those who caught her interest like toys, and when she was done she'd leave them behind just as easily as one. It was all a game in her mind. Which made it all the more frustrating for Clint. As much as he hated to admit it, he was drawn to Eris, but he refused to play her games and be another crushed pawn. The age gap didn't help matters either. God, every time he thought about her made him feel like a dirty, old man. It was even worse now that he actually was a dirty, old man.

"A gorgeous woman is waiting for you on your bed, and you choose getting personal with a door instead?" He heard an undignified snort from behind him. "You're a better gentleman than me, Ronin."

Clint sighed. He wasn't surprised by her presence in his room: she hadn't given him a room number to meet him at, after all. He turned and made his way to the encrypted computer that came with every guest room in the hotel, ignoring Eris as she swung her legs back and forth off the side of the single bed. "That's because you are neither gentle nor a man," he remarked tersely, settling into the leather chair. "I don't see why you had to go and grope me to slip me the damn thing if you were just gonna meet me in the room anyway."

"Cuz then I wouldn't have had an excuse to kiss you!" Came Eris's cheerful response."

Yeah, yeah. This USB of yours got extra encryption already on it?"

"It's safe."

"All right, let's see what problems you're dragging me into now." He plugged in the drive and immediately a single folder popped up:

Project Shadrak.

Clint clicked through the folder, and dozens of files appeared on the screen, each one detailing a job right down to grainy, camera-feed clips of the woman in question. "Eris, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into this time?"

Silence hung heavy in the air for a single moment.

"…A week and a half ago, I found a bug in my apartment," she began from behind him, voice quiet. "I sweep the place regularly, so I don't know how long it had been there, but I could've sworn it couldn't have been for long. Then a few days later, an unmarked envelope was left inside my door, lock still secure. It contained that flash drive and details on every job I've ever pulled since joining the Underground."

He spun the chair to face her, eyes hard at the implication of her words. "Why didn't you have someone trace the data? Why not check your security system feeds? What the hell am I supposed to do? I'm a hired gun, Eris, not a hacker. And I'm not even that anymore."

"I tried!" She bit out in frustration. "Once any hacker saw the flash drive's encryption, they refused to help me. Wouldn't even tell me why!"

"And what exactly do you think involving me is going to help with?"

"Don't you get it?!" Clint faltered at the distress in her voice and watched as she gripped at the roots of her hair and tugged on the strands. "They have data on every. single. job. I've done! That means they have this information on you too! You're in danger, Francis!"

Her voice broke on his false name, and Clint felt his ingrained defensiveness crack at the sound. "What about other partners you've had; have you warned them too?"

He had thought by now nothing Eris could do nothing to surprise him anymore. But then, she shifted her gaze from his, looking awkward as she muttered, "I haven't had any other partners on jobs..."

Clint blinked, “What?”

“Look, I-I don’t— I just— Before you agreed to work with me, no one wanted to work with a technical teenager, all right?” Eris crossed her arms. “After the Italy job and the banker, I got a reputation for being difficult to work with. I don’t—” she cut herself off with a petulant huff, still refusing to meet his eyes. “I just don’t really play well with others, okay? It’s usually better for everyone if I’m hired for design work or solo jobs.”

“You worked with me just fine,” he pointed out.

Eris threw her hands up in the air, exasperation weaving its way through her words, “Yeah, and I got known for that too! You were known as the only one who could ‘handle’ me, as one employer put it. Did no one ever bring it up to you?”

“Honestly, I never really thought about it,” Clint admitted. “Usually was too busy thinking about the shit coffee they always gave us.”

“Yeah, well, it was said to me enough times. So there’s no one else to warn, you happy?”

Eris was dangerously close to pouting, and it made it difficult to keep the serious expression on his face that the situation called for. “Fine, I’ll help you find out who’s after you so that both our backs are in the clear. But after that you’re on your own, Eris. I can’t be seen back in this life.”

“Thank you, Ronin,” she breathed. The next instant, Clint found himself in a crushing hug.

“Oof. Er, I can’t help if you break me, all right? Jeez, I forgot how freakishly strong you are.” Clint rubbed his back as Eris stepped away and sighed. “We’ll head out around noon tomorrow to speak to the last hacker you brought the stick to. For now, get the hell out of my room and get some rest, okay?”

#Clint Barton #hawkeye #clint barton fanfiction #clint barton x oc #clint barton x reader #marvel comics #MCU #Clinton Francis Barton #clint barton x ofc #hawkeye x oc #hawkeye x reader

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thanksjro · 4 years

Text

The Death of Optimus Prime: Running from Our Responsibilities, in Stereo

It was 1986, and Hasbro murdered me on the silver screen to make room for the new toy line, emotionally scarring hundreds of thousands of children all over the world.

Optimus Prime has woken up on a planet he doesn’t recognize, with nothing but a busted Matrix and the stars overhead to help him figure out what’s happened. At first, he thinks he’s dead- a fair assumption, considering his surroundings. It’s looking a lot like hell at the moment.

Damn Optimus, you good? Need to talk about it? Should we go get Rung?

He recognizes the constellations as ones that would be visible from Cybertron, which doesn’t bode well for the fate of the planet. He thinks he might be in the past, but the missing moon seems to knock that theory on its ear. Perhaps the future, one where the Manganese Mountains have been eroded away, and the corpses of the Sweeps are still laying around.

Hmm. Maybe not actually, seeing how erosion and decay works.

Deciding to just see where the day takes him, Optimus wanders over to the ruins of Iacon, where he finds something rather curious: a populace.

You’re going to need a bit more of a repaint if you want any of these guys as toys.

Optimus gets recognized by someone- though he calls him Orion Pax, so it’s probably been a minute- who yells at him about the honestly ridiculously-long war. This guy is what’s referred to as a NAIL- Non-affiliated Indigenous Life-form, meaning he’s neither an Autobot nor a Decepticon.

Sideswipe and Whirl come by to make sure the NAIL isn’t bothering Optimus, and by that I, of course, mean that they’re here to be vaguely threatening because that’s the only way they know how to interact with anything anymore. The lack of a war is going to hit these guys HARD.

Whirl’s first little morsel of characterization in a comic, and it’s a pun. That’s how you know he’s going to be violent and angry at the world.

Optimus gets taken to Autobot High Command, where Rodimus and Bumblebee are trying to coordinate the entirety of Cybertron without causing any more incidents than necessary. Turns out Optimus has been missing for almost a month, but life doesn’t stop happening, even when the space-pope is seemingly dead. Rodimus gives him the skinny on what’s happened in the last few weeks.

Throwing the Matrix into Vector Sigma seems to have kickstarted Cybertron’s heart, which is why it currently looks like hell- it’s primordial. Bumblebee called all their Earth friends back to Cybertron, seeing as they needed all the help they could get getting things back up to speed.

Then all the NAILs started showing up. Turns out, Vector Sigma had shot off a sort of beacon, alerting every Cybertronian to the fact that Cybertron had been reborn. Of course, when they showed up, they probably were expecting something a little more… attractive, we’ll say, as opposed to the current, lava-y landscape.

This is Metalhawk. He’s a NAIL, and has to enter rooms by side-stepping, because his arms are silly. He and Optimus seem to have a past, though it’s probably been a bit. Metalhawk was opposed to the idea of factions from Day One, though if he had to pick one to side with, he seems to be a bit more soft towards the original ideology Megatron had been pushing, back when he was a writer instead of a warlord. He currently wants Optimus and his Autobot friends to leave the planet, and implies that they could potentially be forced out by the growing forces of the NAILs who are returning to the planet in droves.

Rodimus cuts in, saying that surely they can fix the planet with the magic of the Matrix, and then everything will be hunky dory!

Yeah, small problem there.

So, with the bad news about the Matrix shared, Optimus is shown all the redecorating Bumblebee and Rodimus have been getting up to while he’s been gone. Like the Decepticon prison they’ve fashioned out of the smoking remains of the Kimia facility.

Cyclonus is here too, and he’s mad as hell about it. That rat creature is Ratbat. He’s a disgraced senator.

Comic books are wild.

This is a temporary solution, of course, because this particular sort of housing is inhumane and illegal, and they’re going to have to do something with these POWs eventually. Perceptor calls Optimus with news about the Matrix.

You can tell Roberts is on this script because everyone’s apparently deep in the throes of depression, and has been for ages.

Optimus heads back to the workshop and finds Perceptor, and also Rewind. Rewind’s here because he’s an archivist, and he’s sussing out the inscription that Perceptor found on the inside of the Matrix. It’s old. Very old. So old, in fact, Rewind has a difficult time trying to translate it into modern language, though he’s got a few things.

Optimus, because he held the Matrix, knows that this refers to the Guiding Hand, though the details aren’t so clear, now that the Matrix is busted and gone forever.

OR IS IT?

Yes, it is, but now that it’s broken, the Matrix has revealed its true nature.

When you shine a light through half the Matrix, you get a real sweet light show that turns out to be a galactic map.

Over at the spaceport, Metalhawk is schmoozing up his fellow NAILs, before his plot-sense starts tingling and he jumps into the sky to see what bullshit the Autobots are about to pull now.

Back at High Command, there’s a riot outside, complete with a lynching reenactment featuring Optimus Prime.

This has all happened over the course of a couple of hours, by the way.

Inside, the lads are discussing the Matrix map, and Drift is regaling everyone with the history of the Knights of Cybertron, the guys who made Cybertron super rad during the Golden age and then fucked off to try and spread the good word of being cool and nice to other planets. Bumblebee thinks it’s a load of bunk. Prowl is weirdly pretty again, and also an asshole.

STOP IT.

Rodimus is totally on-board with this idea, though. He’s completely ready to pick up and leave Cybertron, the factions, and most importantly the war, completely behind.

Bumblebee, of course, doesn’t want to be left alone with the bureaucratic nightmare that is currently warless Cybertron, and tries to tell Rodimus how to live his life. Bumblebee has forgotten that Rodimus is pretty much a 15 year-old boy, and he’s not his real dad.

Rodimus is going to try and learn from the old ways- after all, if the Knights of Cybertron were as great as the stories say, surely they could teach the modern Cybertronians a thing or two!

Then High Command explodes.

One of the NAILs outside threw a power cell at the building. The situation is spiraling out of control rapidly, and Prowl’s going to need to make some calls.

Prowl was one of the few characters Roberts wanted for MTMTE that he didn’t get, so it would seem he’s using him to the utmost of his ability while he still can. Geezum crow, look at that bastard go. Cold as ice.

Prowl orders the Decepticon prisoners be released. Ratbat tries to take advantage of the situation, but nobody cares about Ratbat. The Decepticons start pummeling the NAILs, acting as crowd control in exchange for not being locked inside the barrel of a giant gun. The true nature of the I/D chips they’re all outfitted with is revealed: Inhibitor/Deterrence chips can A) prevent usage of alt-modes and built-in weapons, and B) kill you if you get too mouthy.

Who the HELL is throwing fireballs??

This is a huge mess, and it only gets bigger as Metalhawk’s hit with a laser. Optimus calls for him to be brought in for repairs, and the narrative returns to just who’s going on the space adventure with Drift and Rodimus.

Oh, and Magnus. He wants in on this, too, which surprises Prowl and Bumblebee greatly. His reasoning is pretty sound though: the Autobots aren’t wanted on Cybertron, and maybe the Knights of Cybertron can teach them a thing or two about living peacefully.

This sets Prowl the hell off.

If this seems like a case of “thou doth protest too much”, that’s because it is. You see, once upon a time, ol’ Prowler here tried to run away from the war, only for the ship he was on to get shot down over the Manganese mountains.

This confession makes everyone feel a little awkward, and Bumblebee is about to tell Prowl that he can leave the planet if he really wants to, but is distracted by the fact that Optimus has vanished. Oh no, where has he gone?

Why, he’s addressing the people of course, with all the sensitivity and thoughtfulness a leader ought to have in such a tense moment. His final point is an interesting one- Optimus himself is a giant burning torch for the war and everything it put the planet through. He offers the NAILs this: in exchange for allowing the other Autobots to stay on Cybertron, he will leave, never to return. Self-exile is an interesting approach, Optimus. Let’s see how that plays out for you.

Later on, Rodimus and Bumblebee are talking. Bumblebee agrees with Optimus’ decision, as well as his reasoning for it, and it’s very much implied that if Optimus hadn’t exiled himself, Bee would have done it for him. Bumblebee’s ready for everyone to start working together to make Cybertron a better place.

Bumblebee didn’t look up the IDW lineup for 2012, it would seem.

The fact that Rodimus is still going to try to find the Knights of Cybertron leads to a huge blowup between the two of them. Bumblebee needs him here to start fixing Cybertron, while Rodimus thinks that the Knights will be able to solve all their problems, if they can just bring them back. Their squabbling brings Optimus out of the shadows, and he hands them a half of the Matrix each, before walking off again.

This is like the opposite of a get-along shirt.

And with that, Optimus Prime fucks off into space, takes up the name of Orion Pax once again, declaring Optimus Prime dead, and is now finally, finally free.

I give it about a year before he’s back.

That’s the end of The Death of Optimus Prime, the one-shot that sets up all the final pieces to the dual publication of Robots in Disguise… and More Than Meets the Eye.

#transformers #jro #the death of optimus prime #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing

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mitterstorm · 4 years

Text

Dance For Me

Chapter 1

“Finally we are here today to seek and to receive comfort. We would be less than honest if we said that our hearts have not ached over this situation. We are not too proud to acknowledge-

You couldn’t take it anymore, just by standing here listening to that preach addressed his departure. Your knees feel weak and your eyes burn, but you refuse to make a scene, taking deep breaths while clenching your fists is helping you calm down.

Still, it’s not enough.

You want to scream again just as you did when you saw his body limp against yours, scratch your arms in attempts of making the pain and hurt go away. To drift your mind from these ugly feelings.

A sick way of coping indeed, teensy bit of self-harm ain't going to kill you. It helps you somehow, preventing yourself from breaking even further in a public place like the cemetery.

Finally, you regain control of yourself and shift back to the preacher. Unfortunately, he concluded, now you have to prepare for the worse.

Henry, who is your most precious friend, is dead. His body was being carried away in the concealment of a coffin; he said his last farewell to you early in the morning when you ate breakfast with him, offering your company so he wouldn't feel alone, regain some strength by appreciation itself.

Something was up that morning; the old fart was more talkative than usual and flashed a smile here and there. You are at fault for not noticing from the start. You should have been more perceptive and observant; you are keen on people after all, especially when he gave you that look as if he was parting ways with you. He didn’t fight death, accepted it as embracing a hug from an old friend. That thought alone fills your head with doubt.

Was he even happy when he left?

Did he feel satisfied with the life he lived?

Were you enough?

Fuck, you never would've imagined his passing will affect you this much.

<<You old geezer, why were you so kind to me? Why did we let ourselves get attached?>>

The time is near, you will eventually have to confront him with all of these people staring at you, but you need to be strong for sake. You are what’s left of his loved ones. Linda died long ago. They never had a chance to procreate and bring a new life, Joey went mad or something along those lines.

Just like the rest of the crew, and he didn’t make any friends while he was on service for the military. If he did, they were dead. He didn’t like to talk about it.

<<I tried to make you happy, make you feel at ease as you did for me>>

Yet he kept secrets from you, of course, you respected his wishes and didn’t pry any further.

However, it stung.

<<Now it’s not time to reminisce, there’s nothing to reminisce for me at the moment>>

They called your name to the front; you ran out of time. It’s your turn. Is your first time burying someone, yes, you have assisted other burials besides this one, but now you are who’s lost a loved one. Those past times were favors people close to you had asked a long time ago; they said it felt nice to have somebody there when someone else is missing in their lives. In other words, you were there as comfort. A shoulder they could use to cry and lean on.

Hesitant, you take away from the burier’s grasp his shovel and with a gulp. You start shoveling some dirt into the hole were Henry’s coffin lies.

<<Shit, I can’t stop trembling! Come on, stop being a pussy and get over with this!>>

Despite that, your body wouldn’t obey, it made you look clumsy. No matter how much you lied to yourself.

You are scared.

After burying Henry, your vision goes black.

Waking up tomorrow morning at home without a clue of how you got there made your mind fuzzy.

How fun.

You try to get up, but end up failing.

“Fuuuuuck! Why do I feel like absolute shit! Everything hurts!” These feel just like a hangover. Why does it feel like one? Did you go to a bar once Henry’s funeral ended? How much did you drink?

“Enough to blackout it appears,” You say under your breath. Of course, your dumb ass would go to a bar and get drunk to cope with the pain! An upcoming headache awaits you for being arbitrary, instead of showing apprehension towards the situation and mourn, as you should, your voice of reason zonked out. “I reek of booze. Agh, it stinks”.

No more addressing what happened yesterday; feeling like trash isn't doing you any good. Henry would have called you out on your bullshit.

"Stop whining like a whore and man up, chum! I'll buy you a drink. Later we can relax and cut you some slack, nothing a magsman like myself can't do".

“Ok boomer,” You said in a humdrum tone, at least it made you laugh internally. “lo and behold, this will be a shitty morning-err afternoon, it’s 1 PM, I thought it was too early to be awake”.

That means it’s time for brunch.

Must compel your stomach desires, eat a lot little of food. Therefore, you'll have to leave the bed, go downstairs where the kitchen is; you force yourself out of the comfiness that are your covers. So you walk out of the room barefoot towards the kitchen. You open the fridge faking interest with whatever is inside and close it, then repeat, only that this time you pay a little more of attention.

You grab the water pitcher and pour some in a glass, then look for oatmeal and toss three spoonfuls of it at the water, after that you chuck a spoonful of sugar and mix it. A simple drink full of roughage. It’ll suffice for now.

*Clink clink*

Metal hitting porcelain serves you as a white noise to rearrange your thoughts. Yesterday was hectic and had your mind high wire, you were thinking about the old man; how long have you two been friends? Five or six years more or less, you met each other by autumn at a hospital. On that occasion, you were merely an intern in the middle of their practice and had to change sheets, deliver meals, give them their meds and reassure they took them at the time the doctors had said. Like a nurse or carer (the difference it’s you possess more knowledge than one and can prescribe medication, it was also part of your duty as a trainee assisting the doctors with whatever you could). That’s how both of you came face to face with.

Mr. Stein was sick and injured. He needed to tend some wounds since they required special treatment. Battle scars, you didn’t know at the time, however, as days passed, you became close to him, he told you how he got them; the biggest can be found on his back.

Unfortunately, a sharp pain arose, preventing you from wandering further in the past. You had forgotten about your headache, which it’s more noticeable now, you are sure there aren’t any pills left.

“I ain’t leaving being this crappy, besides I don’t feel like moving right now…” Your eyelids are heavy and keeping them open, it’s such a pain, so you shut ‘em in hopes of relaxing for a little bit. Leaning your back on the kitchen island while drinking your beverage, its coldness helping you somehow with the throb.

Once again, your mind wanders.

Thanks to it, you know where to find some ibuprofen.

“Are these the ones?” You asked while holding a box for him to see, squinting Henry finally recognized the packet.

“What’s it called again?” He questioned, rubbing his head to ease the ache a bit. His voice raspy because of a dry throat. His normal soft tone replaced by a croaky. He’s clearly suffering.

“Ibuprofen.” You read aloud as you’ve been asked and turn back to look at him.

“Yup, that’s the one, lass. I know I’ve bothered you enough, but could you serve me a glass of water?”

“You old coot, not a bother at all. I’ll be back with your water in a jiffy”.

The pills are somewhere inside Henry’s studio. You can do that, going upstairs isn’t as demanding as buying them, cuz leaving home means changing clothes that look presentable and aren’t dirty. Henceforth, you don’t feel in the mood for seeing the outside.

“I should stop thinking of how lazy I am and look for those meds…” Talking to yourself it’s quite common, so you ain’t no stranger to these situations.

Therefore, you took a break from your bullshit and went upstairs where Henry Stein used to draw; he passed most of his time in there, secluded from the outside world, before military service, he worked at an animation studio owned by the man he once considered his best friend, Joey Drew was his name if your memory doesn’t fail you.

Your friend called him a bastard, never explained why only responded by saying: “He lost his mind.”

Nevertheless, Henry kept drawing cartoons, and sometimes, he would let you watch him sketch and answered your questions. He carried on with his old comics he left unfinished long ago. The same he had drawn back thirty years ago. The main characters are three little fellas: Bendy, Alice Angel, and Boris. Henry said they animated their adventures and later on, added side characters. The Butcher Gang, if you recall, also consists of a trio: Charley, Barley, and Edgar.

When Henry started storytelling, you felt like a kid back again, he could’ve marked your childhood just as the rest of animators who made those toons while you were a child. Oh, how you treasured these memories, you’ll never forget the time you spent together.

Evoking past times has helped to soothe your headache an itty-bitty, yet you still need to find the ibuprofen.

“Where could it be…” You asked to no one, hoping the walls may respond, even though it’ll never happen.

Seeking everywhere you soon turned the room upside down, papers on the floor resembling a carpet, art supplies rolling across the table (pencils, colors, pens, paintbrushes, blending stumps, etc.) and some books based on anatomy and animation were disorganized on their bookshelves. It all ended after you opened a drawer (this one didn’t need your touch, it was already a disorder) and found what you were looking for, and because of your rashness, more papers fell on the floor.

“Damn, what a mess…” You muttered under your breath a little irritated with yourself for being so careless while searching. You collected the papers and put them in order back again one by one, because of it you grew curious and read some of them, a letter grabbed your attention.

It was one of those fancy letters with a seal and all (what does it say? Seems of importance).

You don’t consider yourself nosy, just interested in its contents.

<<From Joey Drew? Huh, looks like your old buddy send you his salutations after all this time>>

Oh, you had no idea.

Henry knew about the letter, he already read it and did as they told him. The old studio where they used to make dreams come true transformed into a living hell.

‘DEAR HENRY

IT SEEMS LIKE A LIFETIME AGO SINCE WE WORKED ON CARTOONS TOGETHER.

30 YEARS REALLY SLIPS AWAY, DOESN’T IT?

IF YOU ARE BACK IN TOWN, COME VISIT THE OLD WORKSHOP.

THERE’S SOMETHING I NEED TO SHOW YOU.

YOUR BEST PAL, JOEY DREW’.

You finished reading the letter.

*Snrk*

Well shit.

Did you just read a confession or a love letter? Why not both? You don’t know why, but it feels like one.

“Okay, let’s stop right there. I can’t make jokes on circumstances as these ones”.

What could be so urgent for Joey to write a letter after thirty years of silence?

Should you investigate?

<<The letter could’ve been sent years ago! Henry surely read it; otherwise, it wouldn’t be inside a drawer of his studio, though there’s a possibility he didn’t, I doubt it. He must have seen his friend has written message>>

Okay, sure. Let’s suppose he didn’t pay any mind to the damn thing, you can pretend, now the real issue it’s the location. Joey Drew Studios must be closed (or broken down into pieces, you didn’t know if they decided to demolish the whole building).

“Wake up ___! Face reality, you shouldn’t be fantasizing, this ain’t some silly story with you as a heroine…instead of wasting my time, I shall swallow that damn pill and take some zzz’s”.

You left Henry’s solace and went to bed once again after you swallowed the pill with some water. A dreamless sleep greeted you.

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Bendy’s POV

“ん乇'丂ムの刀乇”.

Even though he should be celebrating, the Inkarnate can’t seem to find any joy in his being, no emotion tried to overtake him. Why? He doesn’t feel anything. True, he may not possess all the emotions a human has, but anger, joy, sadness, and hysteria weren’t unbeknownst him. There’s no satisfaction nor sorrow towards his creator’s death, not even an ounce of regret. Ok no, he won’t sense any guilt for what happened to Henry, he deserved to die just as much as Joey, but he was grasping straws in here!

How’s it possible to not perceive the slightest of emotion within himself?

The Ink Demon was turning apathetic in regards to the subject; he didn’t have an answer as to why. One thing he’s sure of, his world turned dull no longer exciting as he thought.

It was as if the little dancing demon had opened his eyes for the first time, after all those years blinded by the dripping ink, before that, he only saw what his mind showed him. He finally realized how monochromatic his world truly is.

All is black and white for the demon’s eyes.

A wave of indifference invades his mind and his mind is fuzzy, he dissolves into his inky form and rests.

However, not for much.

“-aHahaHAhahaHahaHAhaha!”

Alice.

That bitch.

He despises her nearly as much as those liars, yet the little devil darling couldn’t give a damn about her right now. Let her laugh all she wants as the malady she’s. The Angel probably got the word, celebrating, unlike him.

Immersing himself even more inside the ink, he found…peace. He can work with that, serenity aids his jumbled thoughts; darkness envelopes him and swallows his body whole.

<<In the end…I feel empty. Is this how revenge it’s supposed to be like?>>

He can’t respond to that, how could he? He doesn’t even know what’s life supposed to feel like.

<<Their imagination cursed us all with life, they couldn’t take responsibility for their actions and show us how to drive through it>>

Back when he was the small little imp everybody loved, there were all kind of colors, unlike now. The studio felt warm in contrast to all the ink that surrounds it now.

The remains of those old days lurk inside the deep abyss as ink creatures, husks who replaced the humans that worked here.

Thinking about it got him tired, Bendy finds himself drifting from consciousness, he’s falling asleep.

“Was it worth it?”

<<Again that cunt>> Despite his thoughts, the Inkarnate didn’t feel irascible towards the narcissist woman. Actually, there isn’t much for him to perceive.

She’s not in here, she wouldn’t dare to step a foot on his domain. The wench had the nerve of placing her cutouts and posters; he destroyed a few just as she did the same. She is communicating with him using a damaged poster with her face.

“I know you can hear me, demon, don’t fake pretend.”

“Wんﾘりのﾘのひ ᄃﾑ尺乇?” He hopes to scare her, even though he knows it won’t work while using his beast form for some reason his speech turns nightmarish. Yet he doesn’t wield it often because of how difficult is controlling his instincts. Thoughts become more primal, talking it’s hard after a few hours transformed in it gets tiring, and he can’t measure his own force. He favors his inky form best: practical and gets the job done.

“I don’t”. So she’s just shitting with him, insufferable.

“Then why ask?”

“Spirit of inquiry. Your relationship intrigues me, up there in Heaven, we get curious as to why you didn’t kill him yourself. And don’t even try to justify your actions. You had many opportunities. The little errand boy nearly ends up killing you, he tried the same with me”.

After listening to what the Angel had to said, his permanent smile turned slowly into a frown. It’s never a good thing when the Lord ain’t wearing one.

“…”

“Well?”

The fallen angel is laughing at him.

“Not even you know the reason behind your acts of mercy!” He remains silent, it’s not like she’s wrong, the little devil does not why he was so resilient with Henry.

After that fiasco, she left him be.

Thanks to Alice’s short visit, Bendy finds questioning why she dropped by. They hate one another, true. She has eyes here and there, but it’s to keep him in line, so he won’t cross an inky limb on her domain. Unlike the female cartoon, he does not have any cutouts, posters, plushies, or ink servants near her place. He wants nothing to do with her. That’s why he finds it so unusual, it’s not like her.

Unless…

She fancies something he has.

<<If that bitch knows what’s good for her, she won’t be picking her nose in my business>>

Later he’ll do his rounds throughout the studio, maybe, the imp will find what she’s searching before she does, whatever it may be, he won’t let her have it.

He’ll make sure of it.

Who knows what her deranged mind has planned; he’s tired of the gruesome scenery this place is in, corpses all around, clones of his ol’ friend bring back unsavory images from the past. Oh, Lawrence, he’s a madman, made satanic circles as a way of showing his devotion towards the black devil. Thanks to Sammy, he has eyes in nearly the entire place.

Yes, he’s aware the musician it’s alive, but Sammy Lawrence continues being of use for him.

<<I’ll take care of him when I wake up…>>

He’s exhausted. However, he stays on his beast form sunken in ink.

The demon’s slumber it’s a peaceful one…

Until you enter his kingdom.

An animalistic rumble shakes the tinted walls.

He’s coming for you.

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

Three days.

You paced on the issue for three days, until you finally had an answer.

“I’m gonna pay a visit to your ol’ pal, maybe he’s still alive…or not…” You lowered your voice in the last part; Henry called Joey a bastard and accused him of being mentally unstable, you trust his word, but what if…what if he changed? There’s a possibility he redeemed himself and went through a rehabilitation process to help him with his instability.

<<I need to look for the address and from there I’ll see what can be done>>

You googled ‘Joey Drew Studios’ on your phone and within seconds Google Maps showed up, you were going to click at it, but then something catches your eye.

An article and it’s quite old.

‘Joey Drew Studios, also known as the workshop. Is an American corporation and an animation studio of the Bendy franchise, established in 1929.

Founded by Joey Drew and Henry Stein in an unknown full date other than the year of 1929, Joey Drew Studios is located at Broadway, Brooklyn, New York City, New York.

In 1946, Joey Drew Studios was under investigation after reports of hazardous work environments, missing employees, harassment, and excessive back pay, as well the company's danger of being bankrupt, all of which are a result of Joey's mismanagement of the studio. Anonymous employees threatened to make labor unions over the poor conditions, which included unpermitted buildings, hazardous electrical wiring, and a plumbing system prone to bursting. In addition, there were excessive work hours, most of which were unpaid and several animators were unable to see their families in weeks, after being threatened with disciplinary action and termination if they were unable to finish animations on tight schedules.

There were reports of barricaded offices, employees locked up in work spaces, and complaints of crazy malfunctioning machinery. Despite the evidence against the company, Joey Drew remained firm that the studio has done nothing wrong, calling the accusations "preposterous" and "ridiculous", dismissing them as either complaint from menial employees, or feeble attempts by competing studios to discredit Joey.

On August 16, 1959, the law firm known as Snooks, Spitner and Snooks sued Joey Drew, having heard the rumors of Joey's mismanaging of his own workers. 12 days later, the studio was closed down in accordance to legal regulation 11 U.S Code § 1125 (which forbids the misrepresentation of legally established companies) as evident by the bankruptcy report found in Joey's apartment, as well as health and safety concerns directly by the mention of a health and safety board meeting schedule found in the appointment lobby.’

Oof.

<<That’s a lot to take in>>

Why the fuck would Henry’s friend would want to meet at that nightmare show? Has he learned nothing after all this years? And not only that, the sucker it´s/was an abusive prick with his employees!

<<Man, you weren’t joking>>

You fear a screw lose isn’t Joey’s only problem.

<<He sounds like an asshole, I don’t want to put up with his shit...I’ve got enough dealing with people like him on a daily basis. Sure, not everyone it’s an ass and there’s some decent/kind people out there, but handling jerks as the likes of him tires me out>>

Sometimes you aren’t the most patient person, it all depends. But this whole ordeal it’s too much for you.

<<The studio is in the big city, New York it’s fucking expensive. I don’t have the money for travelling that far, I’ll have to bid on my savings and package supplies for the journey>>

Crap. Three days and you didn’t think all of this through! How can you be so stupid?!

Now this looks like one of those impulsive decisions you take for being careless and inattentive.

<<How could Henry put up with me when not even I can stand myself?!>>

You need an adult, that’s what you ought to have beside you.

Your life is such a mess sometimes…

“Before spending money on my idiocy I should read more and prepare myself.” You mutter angrily to yourself.

That’s exactly what you did the next two days, finally you are ready for departing.

You grab your backpack and the car’s keys. “Cellphone in the front pocket, all that’s left is open the door, lock it and call Abby, easy.”

During those two days you made a few calls and went up for gas, it was going to be a long trip from Miami to New York. Sure, it ain’t that extensive, but you’ll be driving by yourself for approximately 20 hours. A place to stay, money, gasoline and food are big girl’s problems. Not counting the money you’ll spend on a cheap motel to rest your head.

“That or make a few stops on gas stations…maybe sleeping in the car won’t be that bad…” The good thing is you have options; you aren’t tied solely to one alternative.

<<Abby won’t charge me for doing me this favor, another plus>>

She’ll guard the house in your absence and will call if any emergency transpires.

Now, you are free to go.

<<I hope I made a good decision doing this>>

The first 8 hours were a torment, bored and your ass felt numb of sitting for that long, the last time you remained that still was in high school, since you made your schedule. Your feet hurt just as your arms did. You made a stop for eating and going to the bathroom, after that another 8 hours.

Overall, the journey was relaxing, while driving you admired the views offered to you, savoring each sight. It helped you keeping away some melancholy.

You miss Henry, no matter how much you tried to distract yourself with this excursion of yours, the emptiness stays in the back of your mind.

Your wounds are still fresh, you haven’t mourned properly, because you don’t want to. That’s why you are doing this, to keep yourself busy so you won’t think about it. You need it, you ain’t prepared for it yet.

Soon you’ll be.

After a short nap (before that you made many stops, ‘cuz you’re a whining bitch who ain’t strong enough to control her fucking bladder), you started driving again. You have three or four hours left on the road.

Time to listen some music, you activate Bluetooth and connect your phone to the car’s stereo, finally you found a song of your liking in Spotify and play it. You spent the rest of the trip singing along; sometimes you’ll speed up a little bit on the spur of the moment.

Soon you got to your destination, didn’t waste time changing clothes, you collapsed on the bed in the motel and slept for an hour. After that, you washed yourself and got ready for visiting Joey Drew.

“Here goes nothing…”

You regret already coming here, silly you just ruined a change of clothes! Why is there so much ink? You’ll never get out the ink of your shoes, fuck! You have been here for less than ten minutes and all went to shit for you! It doesn’t help this place keeps giving you the heebies-jeebies! Every time you take a step on the creaky wooden floor it feels as if someone is following you, like a slithering sound. The ink splashes keep creeping you out, if it wasn’t black you would think it’s blood, Jesus Christ.

<<Thank God, the lights still work; it would make this place spookier if they didn’t>>

As you venture further deeper into the studio, a beast rumbles, shaking everything around you, more ink drops fall.

At that moment…

…you knew you fucked up.

So you hide.

Your mind provides you one last thought before going high drive

‘WHY ARE YOU RUNNING?! WHY ARE YOU RUNNING?!’

<<FUUU-

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #fanfic #bendy #boris the wolf #alice angel #bendyxreader #sammy lawrence #henry stein #reader #Dance For Me Fanfic #bendy fanfic #BATIM fanfic #batim fanfic

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imperiuswrecked · 5 years

Note

Heacanon - Atlantis has no concept of mental health care. (I've noticed that in a lot of the comics, everything from "Namor is visibly grief-stricken over the death of his wife" to "Namor is hallucinating and everyone can tell" gets Atlanteans just floating around talking about whether Namor's going mad or not and making zero attempt to do anything useful.) Namor knows of mental health care, but after being 'helped' without his consent by Xavier, doesn't trust it.

Listen, Atlantis may have super advanced tech and a long history of forgotten lore, and were the most advanced city when it was above the waves, and Atlanteans may have advanced biology, magic, and knowledge, but they are the STUPIDEST people I have ever seen.

There are some exceptions Lady Dorma, and Vasthi are a blessing.

The Atlanteans literally at one point: Well, Namor’s nephew from his long lost half brother who was human (Leo’s other son when he remarried once) and Llyra’s son, who was half human and half lemurian and was literally born yesterday but advanced science let him grow into a buff 16 year old, seems like a good choice of a leader so we are kicking you out Namor.

They just have the WORST systems in place for dealing with anything, also most of them are racist as hell towards anyone who isn’t a pure blooded Atlantean, something Namor knew very well, and they just see Namor’s issues as something that stems from his biology or he is another “mad king” because apparently diagnosing his ptsd and other mental health issues are too much for them even when its glaringly obvious.

Also Namor has a HUGE distrust of doctors of any kind, the last time he had surgery it was forced upon him and he had his gills sealed shut, he can’t even sit in a hospital wing when he is sick because he thinks that if he shows any kind of weakness his people and enemies will know about it, when he was grieving over Lady Dorma’s death he fled Atlantis and just its so freaking annoying to see all of his cast brush him off as some crazy guy who isn't fit for the throne anyway.

How Namor is still semi sane after having to deal with so much, including his past childhood and his war years, is beyond me. The fish man needs a break.

I’m gonna go ahead and headcanon that Thakorr got rid of all the programs that could help people who have mental health issues so no one could see what a bastard he was.

#namor #atlanteans #namor the sub-mariner #marvel comics #thakorr #namor headcanons #thanks for asking!#Anonymous

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elizabeth-234 · 5 years

Text

Whumptober 2019

Day Five: Gunpoint

Hi Friends!! This is slightly different than what I've ever written before. It is an AU set in regency times but I was being vague with all the rules of setting and etiquette! So, while it has those tones it is not absolutely correct. Thank you for understanding!

Thank you and I hope you enjoy!

Day Four: Human Shield

Summary:What will Lord Stark do when his daughter's suitor turns out not to be a gentlemen after all? Issue a duel, of course.

Lord Stark stared at the man across from him with hard eyes. His gaze was unyielding even when the whispers reached a crescendo. He raised his eyebrow, challenging the bastard to look away. When the whispers and attention peaked to an almost comical level Lord Stark decidedly looked away and the room hushed at the snub.

The tension vibrated through the room and still turned away he spoke. “Do you accept?”

The tensioned radiated and then froze. For a moment no one breathed. Anthony was a patient man and would stand there all day if he had to. He knew that there was every reason for the man to decline and even more at stake if he didn’t.

Lord Andrews exited the room muttering curses under his breath. He snatched his gloves and hat out of the Butler’s hand, enlightening the man a name like Friday was not acceptable for the noble profession.

He thought as he walked out onto the front step that everything about Lord Stark was ridiculous. Everything except his money. That, Fredrick thought, was not something to be mocked.

The carriage door slammed shut but his eyes rested on the house. The large windows and parapets dripped with their master’s wealth and Fredrick grinned wickedly. It all should have been his. His eyes closed as the carriage moved forward. Visions of the voluptuous interior and the woman that had nearly been his laid in his memories. He had a duel to prepare for.

Back at Stark’s Townhouse, Tony sank against the chair in his drawing room. Why had he been cursed with a daughter? The devil take him now. He rose up and straightened his cravat, running his hands through his hair.

The light under Penelope’s door was unlit. Like a warning bell his knock rang out through the hall. He heard a faint call to enter and twisted the handle.

His daughter was draped across the bed like an expensive throw. Her velvet dress shined in the firelight and her curls, which every morning were meticulously fashioned, were spread in disarray over the satin bedspread.

“Penelope?”

She raised her head and Tony’s heart stopped for a moment. Tear tracks seeped into her face, leaving glistening strokes on her pale cheeks. She reminded him of a cosset lamb. The tainted innocence painted her face. He averted his eyes to afford her more privacy.

“Daddy.” She said with a whimper and fell back onto the bed. Tony strode forward, decorum forgotten, and gathered his daughter in his arms. Despite the many layers of her dress she felt small in his arms.

“What am I going to do with you, my dear?” He whispered into her hair, kissing the crown of her head.

Her shoulders shook harder and his hand patted her back, wishing not for the fist time that her mother were here to deal with these outbursts.

“There, there.” He said.

He knew the moment Penelope came back from tea with the marvelous Lady Pepper that something was wrong. After a carefully worded comment to Penelope he found that it was him alone who thought it was wrong. He noticed a rapid change in her countenance, the way she held herself straighter after the afternoon.

Upon discovering his daughter met a certain gentlemen Tony’s curiosity was piqued. After her debut into society many men applied themselves in hopes to gain his daughter’s good nature but none succeeded so far. Small comments kept cropping up through dinner about this ‘certain gentlemen’, as she referred to him. If she knew how much the moniker was said Tony was sure she would have censored herself. Fortunately, her expression remained unguarded, as it was the two of them.

“Penelope, am I to learn what this gentleman’s name is?”

A becoming blush stained her cheeks and Tony was reminded how young the girl was.

“Lord Andrews, Father. All the ladies were positively enchanted, I’m sure.”

“And what about you?” He said with a smirk noting the way her cheeks darkened and her eyes wouldn’t quite meet his.

“I don’t know what you’re implying father but I was perfectly cordial to everyone at tea. You know Lady Pepper insisted I bring you those scones you so like.” Her distraction worked and the matter was forgotten… then.

Another luncheon came and Tony listened to the reports of latest news from Penelope while he perused the paper. She stopped talking and Tony lowered the paper. Her hands fiddled with the silverware. Tony huddled behind the paper once again feeling the weight of her eyes through the print.

“Was there anything else of note?” He finally spoke after the room was bathed in silence for to long and he could practically feel her words ready to burst forth.

“And Lord Andrews was there again, father. He talked almost the whole time with Mrs. Board, of course he had to as she was the host, but at the end we had an enlightening conversation about his beliefs about science and he went on to explain the most fascinating work done by…” She paused. “By a woman. Her name was Fulhame and she is a chemist. It’s most uncommon I know but it’s amazing to hear. And he didn’t seem scandalized by it one bit and he…” She trailed off and bit her lip.

“And he what? Don’t leave me in want of the conclusion of your riveting conversation.”

“And he took my opinion into account. Why I believe I might have even given him new thoughts on the subject. It was exhilarating.” Her eyes closed as her head came to rest on the back on her seat. A small smile she wasn’t aware of graced her face.

Tony smiled as well. It was… frowned upon for women to be educated beyond the domestic arts but, as his daughter, Tony sought the best tutors and education money could buy. As a result her mind was widened to the possibilities of the world. She was a great conversationalist and well read but many looked down upon those same characteristics because of her sex.

It was difficult seeing the way many suitors withdrew their interest when she brought up Descartes, a favorite philosopher of hers, or some other topic that women shouldn’t know of. It was to their detriment, Tony thought sourly, but it continued to hurt when she would question her studies after such events happened.

This was the second time Penelope brought up the name of Andrews and Tony’s curiosity needed to be sated. He played with his cup before draining it. In his preoccupation he failed to notice the strange look come over Penelope’s face. His daughter’s chair screeched along the ground as she stood.

“Don’t stand on ceremony, father. I’m retiring for the night.”

“Are you feeling well?”

Her hands clasped in front of her, a blush staining her cheeks. “Quite so. I am tired that is all. The day has worn on me more than usual.” She bent down to kiss the crown of his head and quit the room.

Tony was left with a full plate and an equally full head.

The following day found him greeting his old friend, Lord Rhodey. They were situated in his study with a glass of brandy each.  

“Well then?” James’s back was to him and the fire cast shadows on his face.

“What do you know of this Lord Andrews? The name certainly doesn’t sound familiar to me.” Rhodey turned around and topped off their drinks before sitting across from him.

“I don’t know much, Anthony. I know he recently came back from abroad. I can do what I can to find out more though.”

He spun his finger around the rim considering his friends offer. “Please.” He said tersely.

“What interest do you have?”

“It’s not me with the interest” Rhodey’s eyebrows rose. “Penelope has had conversations with this ‘certain gentleman’ and I was curious.”

“Not again. You did this with that, what was his name? The Harney fellow. He met Penny, showed some interest, and you hired a detective to follow him. How is she ever going to find a husband if your shadow masks her from view?”

Tony glared at his supposed friend. To bring up that incident brought foul memories. He was correct in hiring the man to follow Harney. It was found out that he was a fortune hunter and nothing more. In the end he stopped the entire acquaintance from evolving before his daughter’s attachments were secure. He sent Harney packing with a stern word and pockets as light as they arrived.

He leaned back in the chair and stared down into the glass admiring the way the amber liquid mimicked the qualities of a gemstone; the way its rich tones changed color depending on the firelight.

“Find out for me would you?”

“As you request.” His friend said in reply.

James proved invaluable to him once again. He worked quickly and efficiently to scent out the new meat. Tony was informed at once with what he found.

One Lord Fredrick Andrews was the son of Lord Andrew Andrews, and was just as ridiculous as his forebearer’s name. The whereabouts of his wealth were put into question after some unfortunate interests, the rumors were he had a proclivity for gambling, and his debts were piled high in cities across the continent. After that he prolonged his grand tour in Europe indefinitely. Andrews only returned recently to take in the sights of his home. One of which appeared to be his daughter.

In the time between his request and receiving the information Andrews had called upon her twice and Tony had the opportunity to take the measure of him himself.

Even if the information arrived earlier Tony’s first impression would not have been worse. In the end he was left with an opinion he wasn’t amused with. Oh, his manner was pleasing and anyone could see he was educated but there was something in his eyes. They were cold and distant when his smile spoke of cheer.

He was an attentive guest to all his hosts and showered every aspect of the drawing room with compliments. Tony observed his manner, especially when everyone’s attention was diverted elsewhere. To the casual eye nothing changed but, being a man of the world, Tony appointed himself a good judge of character and he watched as the man’s smile faded. How his eyes followed his daughter’s figure around the room. Something about it made his stomach clench and it grew worse after James relayed his history.

Maybe he was being overprotective. Lord knows it happened before but his daughter seemed unaware that the object of her budding affection, anyone could see she was smitten, was a cad. She conducted herself properly and with all the grace of an excellent hostess but her own eyes would linger on the gentlemen past Tony’s liking. In her gaze Tony found the innocent hope begin to grow and he was abhorrent to take it away. As he watched her speak to their guests he marveled at her ability to put them at ease and guide the room through the afternoon.

Penelope had grown up well considering her past.

His own thoughts took a darker turn. Richard and Mary Parker were life long friends of his and every time he looked at his daughter’s face he was reminded she was theirs as much as his.

Although it was thirteen years past since Penelope arrived, it felt like yesterday that little girl with dark circles under her eyes came to his door. Her parents passing crumpled her constitution and for a long time she would tremble at every sound and raised voice.

The police told him there was a freak robbery. The couple was known for their prestige and jealousy along with rumors followed them through life. One night a desperate man with a gun sealed their fate. Tony’s fate was sealed that night as well.

The Parker’s adored their closest friend but knew his bachelor lifestyle obstructed his life from progressing healthily. His grand tour took up five long years of his life and the mindset proceeded much longer. It was with great disbelief that the Parker’s bequeathed their most precious treasure to him. Their daughter.

His life changed the moment she shuffled across his doorway and stood there, petticoats frilly and a stuffed bear clung to her chest. She stood there handing her small gloves to Friday and in the sweetest voice murmuring a ‘thank you so much, Sir’ to the butler.

Tony watched from upstairs, unseen, as she stood in the middle of the room unnaturally quiet for a child and so very small. Her hand came up to brush against her cheeks and Tony descended down to see his new ward. Her back straightened and she looked at him right in the eyes before curtsying low. Something about the action made his heart throb.

“Good afternoon, Lord Stark. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Her manner was precise and, while not cold, distant in their formality. Their encounters onward continued as they begun. They ate breakfast together on days when Tony wasn’t hung over from the club and sometimes he took tea but other than that he left her alone in the care of her nanny.

Months passed where, looking back on it now, Tony could see he was tiptoeing around the girl. How did one interact with a child when he himself was barely older than one? In a way he was afraid. Afraid he would somehow ruin the girl with everything that he was.

This didn’t stop no matter how often he passed by her room and saw her playing alone or with the pictures he would sometimes find under his study door that were created with a youthful hand. It wasn’t until he came home late from the club one night and saw the nanny rushing down the hall that something changed.

“What is going on here?” She flushed before bestowing a small bow; her eyes strayed to his ward’s room.

“Sir, it’s Penny. She’s had another nightmare.” He blanched at the informal use of her name and his eyes strayed to the room. He wasn’t aware that she had been having any nightmares at all. He waved the nanny back to her room against her protests and hearing the cries turned to go where they originated.

The moonlight streamed into the room creating strips of silver light on the floor. The girl’s face was illuminated but instead of youth, it seemed old. Her eyes were scrunched and her mouth turned down by unseen torments. With long strides he crossed the room and with hesitation sat on the edge of the bed. His presence did not ease whatever burdens the girl faced and Tony had to keep from flinching at the tear tracks marring her face.

As he stared down at her face an errant verse came to him, “And what if all of animated nature be but organic harps diversely framed, That tremble into thought.” Nature’s torments and memories were indeed fashioning Penelope into a harp but instead of sweet music, the world was graced with the melody of her cries. It was cruel perhaps that such a child should know such sorrow and Tony wished he could do something, anything to help quell the sound.

Tony closed his eyes and not bearing to listen for another moment let his hand cradle her curls. He whispered to her comforts she should have heard long before. The music of her pain grew in intensity and helpless he continued to sit there rubbing his thumb along her forehead. He cursed his avoidance and his guilt for not being strong enough to face her earlier.

She should be with her real family. Her parents would have known what to do. How to raise her but she was left with Tony who was not doing justice to the faith they placed in him.

She woke with a start and on seeing him quieted at once. Looking away she hastily wiped a clenched hand across her face and Tony’s heart throbbed again.

“It’s alright, Penelope. I’m here now and I’m sorry that I wasn’t before.” Her bright eyes, so wide and trusting, looked at him and he felt a shift inside his chest.

He started when a small hand slipped into his and when he applied pressure around her fingers, her face crumpled once more. She launched herself at him and his arms wrapped securely around her. They held fast and stayed like that through the night. Her shoulders stilled as the sun rose and her breaths became low and steady.

Tony was afraid her sleeping face might hold the anguish he saw before but when he gathered his courage he found her much altered. Her lashes brushed against her clear cheeks, still rosy from the tears, but it was the forgiveness in her large brown eyes that undid him. He had been the abominable to her and yet she forgave so easily. Tony wasn’t going to betray that trust. He would become worthy.

After that they grew much closer, inseparable even. Tony decided to quit the club. The people were a bore there anyway and he had neglected his estate. He decided they would move to the estate in the country and spend more time with his ward. His daughter. Reflecting back Tony would always be mournful of the short lives his friends led but his gratefulness for their own trust in him would never fade.

It was astounding how fast the child bloomed into a young adult and, if he were being honest, Tony wasn’t ready for her to move to the next stage of her life. In the past he may have been overprotective and too harsh in his judgments of those who sought to claim his daughter. It served him well and now with this new threat Tony’s instincts were ready.

The newspaper lay unread at the breakfast table. His mind was somewhere far away when the door opened and the object of his thoughts came floating in. It was an apt description for she moved so gracefully that her feet seemed not to touch the ground.

“And what has you in such a pleasant mood, my dear?” He said already fearing the answer.

“Father, I fear I have a confession to make.”

“Before you do may I make a suggestion?“ She nodded and he leaned forward. “Please, think before you give your heart away. It is precious and shouldn’t be handed out to just any suitor that seeks your hand.”

A blush covered her cheeks and she stared decidedly on her breakfast but Tony knew it wouldn’t be long before she spoke. Not a quarter hour had passed before she lifted her gaze and stared hard at him.

“Father, Fredrick loves me. He has told me so.”

He straightened the newspaper, making sure the edges were folded neatly and properly before placing it on the table next to his plate. Tony ignored the use of Andrews’s given name, for now.

“I was afraid you would say that.”

“Afraid?” She exclaimed and instead of answering he steepled his hands in front of him. He regarded his daughter calmly while wishing she were still a naive child who had no interest in romance.

“I would like to talk to this man.” 

“Yes, that’s just the thing. Talk to him alone and see what I do. Once you talk you can see!” She said and Tony wasn’t sure whether she was trying to convince him or herself.

Lord Andrews entered his study after Friday showed him in. Tony nodded to the butler and regarded the new occupant at length. No nerves showed on his face and Tony was impressed with his steel.

“I have heard a great many things about you, Andrews.” He said neutrally. The man had the decency to flush but gave no outward sign of his inner thoughts or that Tony disregarded his title.

“Not everything you hear is to be believed.” Tony snorted. He knew that the hard way. “So, what do I owe this summons?”

“Did you know that my daughter stands to inherit 30,000 pounds per annum from me when I die?” He said looking down at his hand.

“I did not.” Andrews replied tersely.

“Yes and that’s on top of what her parents willed her. Though,” He stopped to look at Andrews. “Not a pound will go to her if she marries someone I disapprove of.”

“And how does one win your approval?” An air of derision applied itself to his speech and Tony inwardly smiled.

“Of course the first object is to win my daughters affection. Her sensibility in this is much better than mine but if by some miracle she doesn’t see a cad for what he is I will be there to stop it.” 

“And is that what you’re doing? Stopping it?”

“I would always stop a union if one was being dishonest.”

“See here. I have never been dishonest in my life.”

“Oh?” Tony asked before opening his desk drawer and pulling out a stack of notes. “Then all these notices of debts uncollected have nothing to do with you, Andrews?”

The man floundered for a second before straightening his jacket. The flush deepened and Tony watched as he tried to collect himself.

“I am a changed man.” He said as a smile crossed his face. “Penelope has changed me and I would do nothing to harm her.”

“Ah, and now we get to the main problem is that you have just lied to me, thrice.” Andrews made to answer but Tony held up his hand. “You are not a changed man. There are debts accumulating in this city as we speak. My daughter will have nothing to do with you again and you have harmed her by trifling with her affections. If I ever hear you speak her name so casually again you can bet I won’t let you walk away so easily.”

“So I don’t have your blessing?” Tony could hear the anger lacing his words.

“My good man, you never asked for it but if you did I would be confident in saying that you would never receive a blessing from me.”

“We shall see what you’re ward has to say about that.” 

“Don’t.” Tony raised his voice for the first time. “She’s not my ward, she’s my daughter. Be honest, do you really want a wife who can’t support your tastes in life?” His attempt to appeal to the wants of the man fell short.

“You’re bluffing. That’s your daughter” Tony’s hands clenched at how he said the word. How he spoke it insincerely, like it didn’t matter. “If I told her she would be heartbroken.”

“Over you or the money? I know she doesn’t care about the latter and are you willing to risk the former?” He said and watched as Andrews growled. His blush deepened with anger and he marched out of the room. The door slammed shut enclosing the room in silence. Tony sighed deeply, hoping his bluff worked and Lord Andrews would make himself scarce, as he believed the money had.

What Tony didn’t realize was at that moment Lord Andrews was preparing to leave their home in haste. Penelope came down the stairs having spied Fredrick arrive earlier and disappear into her father’s study. She noted the red taint to his face and quickly made her way to his side.

Penelope never was interested in the things her nanny taught her growing up. Her love was for what her father and various tutor’s imparted to her. Science and philosophy were the gateways into understanding the world and further to understanding herself. “I think, therefore I am” was one statement she would go back to over and over. The fact that she was a woman did not stop her from being - from thinking. Some people liked to remind her it wasn’t becoming to have such outlandish ideals but how could she ignore everything out there waiting to be thought of.

She couldn’t remember much of her life before coming to live with her father. Vague memories drifted into her thoughts sometimes but they were all hazy. She remembered every second of her time with her father. Those first months were some of the loneliest she faced. She tempered every action and word out of her mouth hoping that her new caregiver would come to like her. At the time she dare not hope for love.

Her nanny was an elderly lady by the name of Alice and was her saving grace. Alice always looked after her. Bathed her when she threw tantrums, read to her, taught her, and most importantly, loved her. She couldn’t remember how many times she awake from a nightmare to find nanny Alice sitting there beside her. That was until it wasn’t Alice there and her father instead. It scared her to see the man she placed all her hopes with sitting there and readied herself for a scolding. His eyes spoke of much sorrow and begged for forgiveness that was never needed. She could see he was finally ready to accept the love she had for him and her father hugged her tight.

Now that she was grown, Penelope knew all about her father’s antics and in the end she was only grateful for his protectiveness. Lucius Harney was one of the few she was disappointed to see go. The man was always so nice to her, even tolerating her interests. Fredrick was the first to accept them, even encourage them, which was why Penelope found herself so admired. Acceptance was an addictive feeling and she wasn’t used to it from many people outside of her family.

Penelope knew her father could be harsh with people he didn’t like, which was why she thought a meeting between the two would help alleviate any problems that might arise. Seeing him upset strained her heart and brought doubts to her mind. She asked what was the matter and her breath stopped short when he grabbed her by the upper arm.

“My darling,” he said. His body dwarfed hers and he walked her back until she hit the wall. His eyes had a strange look about them and Penelope tried to talk to him only to be quieted. To her dismay she found her hands shaking at her sides. “We shall be wed. Whether your father allows it or not.”

“What… What are you talking about Fredrick? You’re scaring me?”

“I don’t care if he never gives his blessing.” He said and looked down at her. His hand released her arm and her own reached up to rub the spot.

“I’m sorry, my darling, but your father has vexed me so.”

“I don’t understand.” Her voice trembled at the force he used. No one had ever touched her in such a violent temper before.

“I’m sure you don’t.” And he patted her cheek. He was treating he like a child, like it was her fault he grabbed her. “I know you told you’re father to test me and I know you would never throw the money away like that. For that I am very grateful, my love.” She cringed but didn’t know why. What money was he talking about?

“I count the hours till I see you again.”

He caressed her cheek again and Penelope was glad it was with a gloved hand. She slid down the wall, staring at nothing, after the latch closed. There was something wrong. His eyes were like nothing she ever saw before and she was sure if she had first seen him this way, she would not have liked him. Fear settled into her core when he grabbed her. He was completely changed from before and Penelope was left unsettled.

Penelope sat there as the light passed through the room. She didn’t notice Friday come into the room and hurry out. It wasn’t until her father’s distinctive strides sounded that she looked up. He knelt beside her and wiped under her cheek surprised to find she was crying.

“My sweet girl. What happened?” At the concern in his voice the fears she had not been able to articulate in her thoughts were blown away. Everything was wrong and she couldn’t understand what Fredrick was talking about. Her heart was pounding hard and she looked to her father for help.

Like the night their relationship as father and daughter started she flung her arms around him and was comforted by the strong arms that enveloped her. In broken words she whispered what happened, trying to make sense of it. Tears slid down her face and onto his shoulder until the well inside ran dry. Languid and weak after her father picked her up and carried her to her up the stairs.

“I love you, Penelope. I always will.”

“What are we going to do about…?” She couldn’t bring herself to say his name and a sour feeling filled her thinking about the man she thought loved her.

Worries filled her head. What if he spread word about her? What if he twisted the events to create falsities? What if…

“Don’t worry, I will take care of it.” He waited until she was asleep before leaving the room and making his way out of the house.

Penelope’s heart dropped at the sight of her father cleaning a pistol. Rumors were running rampant through the house and she barged into his study to see if they were true.

She knew that he had the weapon tucked away somewhere but she never wished to know where. They were gruesome things and bestowed unwanted memories into her mind. Her father knew she hated guns. She hated the sight of them and could never forget the smell. Her parents… her parents were shot before her eyes and she would never forget that night or the pale color of their faces as they lay there.

“Don’t do this. Please, Father.” She ran toward him, eyes pleading.

“I have to, my dear. He wronged you and it is up to me to see that justice is served.” 

“It doesn’t matter. Please, forget about it.”

“I can’t.” He was always stubborn. “Not when you remind me every time I look into those haunted eyes. I have to do this.” 

“No.” she said, equally stubborn. “No, you don’t.”

A sigh burst loose and she sat in a chair, her legs weak. “Who is your second?” 

“James.” 

“And now your bringing Uncle James into this. It’s not worth it.” 

“You will always be worth it.”

Penelope fought back tears but was unsuccessful.

“I hate those things!” She cried out and pushed her face into a pillow. She would never forgive herself for letting that man into their home. Not if her father was hurt. She couldn’t think of if something worse happened. It was a small mercy that she wasn’t there for the issue of the duel. Penelope would have done anything right then to stop it. Now there it was to late. There was no stopping it.

“I’m going” She decided that if it was happening she must be there. Whether in solidarity or to harden her guilt she wasn’t sure.

“No.” 

“I’m going, father. I don’t care if I have to steal away or beg Friday to take me.”

“He wouldn’t dare.” 

“He would if I asked him” Penelope could tell he knew so too. Friday always had a soft spot for her.

“It’s dangerous.” Tony whispered, his voice cracking.

“I need to be there.”

He nodded not liking it but knowing nothing would stop his daughter once she set her mind.

The morning dew caressed the blades of grass and Tony breathed in the brisk air. He looked down at the head of curls next to him and kissed the crown of her head.

It was time.

What was mere rumor grew into gossip that had a crowd gathered around their decided location. The gentleman, Tony couldn’t bear to say his name, stood at the other end of the field; his posse smaller than Tony’s. James stood on his other side and offered the occasional wit to help lighten the mood.

He pulled his pistol out and what little color on Penelope’s face disappeared. He knew she hated it. He did too in a way. They used to adorn his wall as decoration in his study until she entered for the first time and screamed at the sight of them. Penelope ran and buried herself in his arms crying about her parents. After that he put them away and they never talked about it.

The weapon felt heavier than its physical weight in his hand, like a burden he wasn’t quiet prepared to carry. He hugged his daughter close and her smile wavered.

“I love you.”

His heart clenched as she gripped his jacket tight. How could he ever live without her? She saved him from a lonely existence, from never truly living, and that was why he had to do this.

With a nod to James he turned and walked to the middle of the field where the gentleman waited. No words were uttered but Tony saw a glassy quality to his opponent’s eyes that made his heart pound. Their mediator recited the rules and they turned their backs on each other to walk ten paces out.

It was silent and the moment stretched out. Tony stood looking at his family. James was grave and his eyes stayed trained on his opponents back twenty paces behind. Penelope’s never left his face and he gave a silent prayer of thanks that she was in his life. She was his daughter and nothing on heaven and earth could change that.

The two men turned at the same time and Tony raised his hand to the sky while the other’s stayed pointed forward. Their guns went off at the same time and by the time the sound faded one of them was on the ground.

A scream tore out of Penelope as she ran forward. The ground dug into her hands and knees but she paid no mind to the dirt staining her dress. She brought her hands up to cradle the mess of hair atop her father’s head like he had done so long ago when he thought she was sleeping.

“Daddy…” She whispered bringing her hand down along his face, wiping the dirt that fell on it away. Her other hand migrated to his stomach where a deep color seeped from within.

She glanced up and saw Fredrick coming straight toward them. Damp sweat came upon her brow and she moved forward placing her body over her father’s. His face was red with anger and his eyes glassy and wild. Uncle James and another man came forward to hold him back. His yelling ripped through the air and she turned away unable to stomach looking at him.

Penelope blocked her surroundings and focused on the brown eyes that were fluttering open and shut before her. Her hands soaked as she maintained pressure over the wound. She cringed when the doctor moved her away but let the man work. Her father’s hand settled on hers.

“Penny…” he said.

She tried to hug him tighter than she ever had before.

The doctor said it was urgent they go she held his hand in the carriage back. The ride back took forever and the whole time prayers left her lips and journeyed to wherever they were received.

When he was laid up in bed and the wound festered. The fever making him weak she stayed and diligently nursed him. His health returned and Penelope wept in the chair she occupied for what felt like a lifetime.

In the coming years they slowly made their way into society again. Both father and daughter weary to trust any new acquaintances. When James introduced Lord Leeds into their circle Penelope stayed distant for a long time. With encouragement from her Uncle James and grudging acceptance from her father Penelope knew Eddard’s affection was true.

The time came and Tony was there to walk his daughter down the aisle. A smile rested upon his face as he gave the person he loved most into the care of another. It was a beautiful ceremony and many a tear was shed.

Many years after when children played around his feet and his daughter and her husband took care of him in old age, Tony could smile and know he made Richard and Mary proud.

From time to time when Penelope frowned he was reminded of the tears he overheard during his convalesce. She never asked about the certain gentlemen and after that fateful day Tony never saw the pistol again.

His life had been good and when he found himself in his bed for the final time, his daughter and their family surrounding him, Tony couldn’t quite manage to keep the tears from his eyes.

“We’re here, father.” She said and leaned forward to capture his weathered hand. He smiled one last time and basked in the warmth from the fireplace.

Hi All! Here are some references I used in this chapter so feel free to skip if you find it boring!

-Elizabeth Fulhame was a chemist active in 1794. She created the term and concept of a catalysis and photoreduction (which is apart of photosynthesis). She also worked in silver chemistry, which some thought to be the origins of what made early photography possible.This is who Penelope and Andrews were talking about at first.

-René Descartes was a famous French philosopher and scientist during the mid seventeenth century. His works influenced many other philosophy’s and is considered one of the founders of modern philosophy. The statement Penelope uses “I think, therefore I am” is one of his most famous. That statement has its own interesting meanings but it secured knowledge, thinking, as proof of reality instead of abstract imaginations.

-Lucius Harney was a name mentioned. This name is from Edith Wharton’s Summer. The book is fabulous as it is and I highly recommend you read it.

-The verse that Tony thinks of is from “The Eolian Harp” by Samuel Coleridge. He’s from the Romantic Period in England and has the most beautiful prose.

-Lastly, Penelope uses a quote I got directly from Henry James’s Washington Square. The quote is: “if she had first seen him this way, she would not have liked him.” This is said by Catherine in the novel but I thought it fitting that Penelope thinks the same thing. I based this loosely, very loosely, off the plot of Henry James's Washington Square. This book is awesome and I recommend it. There are big differences but I thought it best to let you know!

Thank you so much!

Let me know what you think, Please! It makes my day!

Taglist (Send an ask if you want to be added!): @verdonafrost

Day Six: Dragged Away

#whumptober 2019 #whumptober #no. 5 #Gunpoint #avengers fanfiction #Marvel #Irondad #female peter parker #Peter is female #Tony Stark #Regency AU #Period- typical sexism #my writing #eliza writes

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tessatechaitea · 5 years

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Teen Titans Spotlight #14: Nightwing

So that's why I finally dropped this series: they dropped the "on:".

You might have forgotten that the biggest gang in Gotham in 1987 were the Jewish Surrealists.

I don't even care how many people don't know what the fuck I'm on about. Did you know this world is on fire? Batman is busting a cocaine shipment into Gotham in the prologue of this comic book. According to the cover, he's about to be crucified. I guess the Jewish Surrealists are still micro-managed by Caesar's Hand. Speaking of unbelievable things in comics (this segue works because I believe I was speaking about it fifteen hundred commentaries ago when Nightwing drove a motorcycle up the wall of a building), how does Batman always wind up unconscious and in some form of complicated trap and yet, in all the time it takes to put him there, nobody ever takes the mask off. Not one henchman is curious? Not one henchman binding Batman to the cross ever thinks, "If I knew Batman's identity, I could quit this henchman gig, sell the information, and retire"? I don't believe it. My theory is that thousands of henchmen have tried this plan but Alfred intercepted all of the blackmail notices, hired Jason Bard to find who sent them, and then hired Tommy Monaghan to kill them. I would just like it on the record that I spelled Tommy's last name correctly before looking it up. The Jewish Surrealists capture Batman because they had a sniper with a tranquilizer gun on overwatch during the deal. Batman gets drugged, blackjacked, and spit upon before nobody thinks to take off his mask.

At least I hope that's spit.

I guess if that isn't spit, I now understand why nobody took his mask off.

"Are ya kiddin' me, Rudy?! Put yer fuckin' dick away and help me schlep this bastard into tha van! The boss can take tha fuckin' mask off. Ugh."

Alfred calls up Dick Grayson when Bruce doesn't show up for morning stitches. Dick sighs, hangs up the phone, and goes off to do a literally thankless job because Batman thinks expecting people to be there for him is the same thing as gratitude. I hate complaining about the art because I never complain about the art. So when I finally complain about the art, that means I really fucking think the art sucks. And, well, I'm complaining about the art now.

"Fuck dinosaur references! I got this!" -- Stan Woch

This is some of Woch's earliest work with DC so I shouldn't be too hard on him. Plus he's still alive and he might read this. Although wouldn't it be worse if I were criticizing the work of a dead man? Also, he draws a pretty decent studio apartment and jizz dribble. Nightwing heads off to save Batman even though he knows Batman doesn't need saving. If Batman seems to need saving, it's only because Batman misses Nightwing and this is the only way he can see him without admitting that he misses him. "Oh no!" says Batman as he tries to remember what it's like to feel sleepy from tranquilizers or to feel concussed from a blackjack to the back of the head. "My legs are all, um, wobbly? I'm, um, falling now, right? OH! I'm helpless! I just peed a little too!" Then he lets the bad guys kidnap him and waits for Alfred to worry way too soon and call for backup. And of course Batman would choose a night when Jason Todd is off in California and Superman is off on Oa and Wonder Woman has her anniversary dinner with Steve Trevor.

Oh, just because he's suddenly half-robot, I'm supposed to believe some high school football star can now design high tech contact lenses?! Fuck you, comic books.

Dick finds a vial of acid left behind as Batman as a clue to who murdered him. I mean kidnapped him, probably! Who would kill Batman when they had the chance? I mean if they actually had a chance and Batman wasn't completely faking and ready to start breaking kneecaps the second somebody tugs at his cowl or tries to put a bullet in his brain. Anyway, the acid vial reminds Dick of that one case which was the only one ever in which Batman used a vial of acid which leads him to Drakkar, a Gotham drug lord. This is less evidence that Batman was in trouble and realized Nightwing would come looking for him and more evidence that Batman wasn't in trouble at all and was expecting Nightwing to come looking for him because Batman misses him.

With all the Batman themed stuff in this picture, that marquee obviously says Debbie Does Batman.

Nightwing threatens to beat up some cowardly punk named Skates who Batman apparently beats up every time he needs information. And even though Skates always gives up the information, he somehow hasn't been killed by any other Gotham criminal. Skates tells Nightwing that Batman is going to be killed at midnight in the graveyard. It's going to be a huge party. But instead of thinking, "I'll go to the graveyard and stop this!", Dick wastes precious time tailing Skates hoping he'll lead him to Batman or Drakkar. When Nightwing loses him due to Nightwing's fandom crowding around him, Nightwing thinks, "Wait. What did Skates say? Oh yeah! He gave me everything I needed to know! But now it's so close to midnight, I might not make it in time! Shoot!" Drakkar's plan is to auction off the right to unmask Batman and put a bullet in his brain. So, you know, almost the plan I proposed when they first knocked him unconscious! Stupid greedy thugs! Now Drakkar won't be rid of Batman or rich because Nightwing has found him! And he saves Batman in the nick of time! Time for hugs and demonstrations of familial love and intimacy!

Oh Batman!

Nightwing should know Batman cares because he didn't disappear the instant Nightwing looked away. Batman does smile at the end but not until Dick leaves. Only the reader gets to know Batman is capable of the tiniest bit of joy! And that joy probably wasn't due to Nightwing telling Batman that he's proud to have been Robin. The joy was probably in getting away with not thanking somebody for saving him yet again. Teen Titans Spotlight #14: Nightwing Rating: C+. If I had written this issue, it would have been from Batman's point of view. And all along the way, Batman would be thinking things like, "I'll drop this acid vial which will remind Dick of the Great Dragon caper which will lead him to Drakkar and the subway graveyard where I'm certain Drakkar will take me to kill me!" Then Batman will think, "I bet Dick and Alfred are brainstorming how to find me right now!" And later, as the gun is being put to Batman's head, he'd be all, "The lights should go out just about now! Dick will save me in the nick of time which I'll totally razz him over. Should I say, 'Cutting it pretty close, Boy Wonder' or 'Jason would have been here five minutes sooner'?" Then the final panel of Batman's life will be a bullet passing through his head as he's unmasked. The final page would show Dick Grayson sitting in his apartment listening to Cat's in the Cradle with the phone off the hook.

#Teen Titans Spotlight #Nightwing #Batman #DC Comics #DC

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dat-paw · 7 years

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Petronius

Petronius Stone had lied about his age to enlist in the Imperial Garlean Army.

That part had been his idea- he and his two friends had dreamed of serving for quite some time, but it was Petronius who had suggested that with the need for soldiers at an all-time high, a recruiter might not look too closely into their claims of being men grown. They were Imperial citizens, after all, with all the rights and privileges that accompanied such an honor. Even someone like Petronius Stone, himself a bastard of lowest social standing and little personal worth, wouldn’t be questioned heavily, let alone turned away.

When the day came to enlist, their gambit paid off, though it hadn't played out quite the way the three friends had hoped. They managed to stay together through basic training, but the trio was spilt up shortly thereafter. His two friends were deployed to Castrum Praetorium and Castrum Occidens, while Petronius himself was stationed at Castrum Centri.

He was sixteen years old.

He had been told that it was a great honor to be stationed at Castrum Centri. The rumor was that all Garlean outposts were being fortified on some level, but Centri's need for footsoldiers was greatest.

On his first day, he learned why that was.

His job was simple enough, in theory. He, along with the other members of his platoon, would patrol the perimeter of Castrum Centri and keep the local fiend population under control, while also turning away any locals that grew too curious, or adventurers that grew too bold. As Petronius quickly learned, the latter was a near-constant concern. Evidently, Castrum Centri presented a ripe target for sellswords, tinkers and all manner of lawless opportunists from the disputed lands of Mor Dhona. They would frequently come alone, sometimes in pairs. Very occasionally, they would come in small groups. Recently, one such group had penetrated Castrum Centri's defenses and escaped relatively unharmed, taking a valuable prisoner of war with them.

Petronius' commanding officer was very firm in stating that the incident was going to be the last instance of breached security at Castrum Centri, full stop. There was to be no negotiation. "Never with Eorzeans," his commanding officer had said. "They have grown bold of late. It is time we reminded them that we do not suffer vermin to live. Should a rat scurry across your boots, you must kill it without hesitation, lest it breed." He made it sound very easy, but Petronius had never killed anyone before. It was one thing to talk about taking a life, quite another to have to do it. In his heart of hearts, he wasn't sure he could go through with it, but he had the good sense to never voice these doubts. Every morning, he performed his training exercises to the best of his ability. The Imperial Garlean Army had many methods for killing rats, as it turned out, and Petronius learned them all. If there was any measure of uncertainty in the back of his mind, some half-formed idea of sparing any enemy that should cross his patrol route, he pushed it down and away, to be dealt with later- or perhaps never. On his fifth day, something happened.

The sense of urgency in his commanding officer's voice was palpable even over the linkpearl frequency, and it told him everything he needed to know. This was no common perimeter breach, to be swiftly dealt with by someone other than Petronius and forgotten just as quickly. This, from the sound of it, was a calculated incursion, a genuine threat to security. His orders were to fall back to the main gate and hold it at all costs. By the time Petronius had arrived, the rest of his platoon was already dead, and his commanding officer was locked in furious combat with the man that had killed them, a lone, golden haired miqo'te in dark armor.

"So this is Garlemald's training strategy, is it?" The miqo'te said. He spoke excitedly, with a kind of manic energy that Petronius found terrifying. It was as though he were participating in a reenactment of a battle, rather than fighting a real one- no person living or dead had ever enjoyed fighting as much as this miqo'te seemed to. "Funnel all the green boys who've never held a sword in their lives into the frontlines and pray for the best? Bit careless, that! Still, experience is the greatest teacher, is it not? Come, and I will educate you!"

Steel flashed as Petronius' commanding officer swung his axe in a high arc to stop the miqo'te's downward stroke from becoming a deathblow. "Stone!" He called out. He sounded short of breath, his voice badly strained. Petronius was rooted to the spot, unable to move. He had never seen his commander struggle in battle before. "Stone, quickly! To arms! Aid me, before he-" His plea for help became a breathless wheeze as the miqo'te's gauntleted fist struck him hard in the stomach, punching through his mail and driving the air from his lungs. His grip on his axe loosened only slightly, and this was enough for the miqo'te to press his advantage. In one swift motion, the invader swung his own axe to one side, sending his opponent's weapon spinning away, then swung again in a downward cleave.

Petronius averted his eyes as the axe came down, but he didn't need to watch to know his commander would not survive the attack. Vaguely, through the fog of violence, he wondered how it was possible that so much could transpire so quickly.

A very short time ago, his world had been neatly structured. Perhaps the war with Eorzea was not the grand, glorious endeavor he had expected, but there was comfort in knowing that he had, at least, the support of his fellow soldiers. One man standing against Eorzea was no threat at all, but so long as he had the might of the entire Imperial Garlean Army behind him, he never truly stood alone. The Imperial Garlean Army was invincible, his commanders had said so- everything he'd ever heard, read or seen about the Imperial Garlean Army affirmed it. He had believed it, for he had never had reason to doubt it.

A short time ago, there had been order in Petronius Stone's world, or something like it. And yet somehow, impossibly, it had only taken a handful of moments to see that order turn to chaos; his commander was dead, his platoon was destroyed, and his world was shattered like so much brittle glass. Nothing made sense anymore.

The sound of ringmail clinking against plate brought him back to reality. The soft clinking drew his eyes to the sight of his fallen commander, a man who had loomed so large in life, yet seeming oddly small in death, his life's blood swiftly reddening the grass beneath him as it spread from the crimson ruin that the invader had made of the man's head. To Petronius' horror, the invader had now set his sights on him. "Your friend is dead. The others as well, I'm afraid. Your forces are scattered to the winds." The invader rose his axe, pointing the blood-soaked head of the weapon in Petronius' direction. "Will you fight me as well, or will you yield? And by the Twelve, be certain of your choice before you speak- if you fight me, you’ve no hope of victory. The killing of your allies taxed me not, and I see nothing about you that suggests your efforts will yield any greater results."

Petronius felt a chill go through him, starting at his head and racing down to his toes with all speed. Was the invader speaking to him?

"Silence is not the answer I seek. Fight or yield, green boy. What will it be?"

There was no more putting it off. He couldn't run from this, and there was no hope of leaving it to someone else. There wasn't anyone else to leave it to.

"If I yield..." He began slowly, licking his lips. His hand fell to the hilt of his saber, still hanging at his hip on the simple iron ring that served as his scabbard. "If I yield... You will spare my life?"

The golden-haired invader tilted his head to one side, an expression of polite bemusement crossing his youthful features. His great, catlike miqo'te ears twitched. It was almost comical. "No." He said simply. "You have taken up hostile arms against Eorzea. How is it that you expect to do this and live?" He shook his head, seeming to be genuinely confused that Petronius was asking for mercy. He hefted his axe onto one shoulder and continued. "But if you yield, I give you my word that you will not suffer. I may not look it, but I am very strong. It will be quick. You will feel no pain." He smiled lopsidedly. "Not much of a warrior's death... But there's a craven sort of wisdom in yielding to a superior opponent. You'll meet your gods an honest man, at the very least." Petronius felt the fried bread he'd eaten for breakfast fight its way up back up his throat. Fight and die, or yield and die quicker? It was not the choice he expected to be facing when he woke up this morning. He looked at the miqo'te invader and thought about what his commander had said about negotiating with Eorzeans. We do not suffer vermin to live.

"I'll have your answer now. If you're not fighting, kindly kneel. Oh, and take off your gorget, if you'd have me take your head in one blow. It will be that much easier if you bare your neck."

All at once, the nausea in his belly turned to fire. His pounding heart felt fit to burst, and the sound of rushing blood filled his eardrums like the crashing waves of a distant ocean, boiling hot and utterly alien. This invader had taken everything from him, and now he had the gall to smile as he made Petronius choose between dying on his knees or dying on his feet with his weapon in hand. That was really set him off, in the end- the bastard was actually smiling. Petronius never gave the miqo'te invader an answer. Instead, he closed his fist around the hilt of his saber and ripped the blade free of its scabbard with the sort of savage energy born from desperation. He hesitated only a moment and then, spurred on by the miqo'te's cocky smirk, he plunged into battle. Again and again he struck, swinging his weapon and meeting with open air when his blade wasn't harmlessly turned away by the flat of the miqo'te's war axe. The miqo'te was still smiling throughout the onslaught, and might have said something at one point, but if he did, Petronius did not hear it over his own shouts of fury.

It was over quickly. Petronius' wrath had lent him strength, but his endurance was not inexhaustible, and before very long, he felt the strength draining out of his limbs. This, it seemed, was the moment that the miqo'te invader had been waiting for, and he began a relentless assault that Petronius struggled to even defend against, let alone counter. He was retreating one or two steps with every hit, and taking wounds along his arms and legs all the while, when the miqo'te suddenly spun with the force of a small hurricane, shattering Petronius saber and knocking him flat onto his back.

He felt the pressure of the miqo'te's boot on his chest.

"Cheap steel. Like the others. If Garlemald truly means to win this war, they would do well to ensure their foot have arms and armor enough to withstand an attack from passing adventurer." He brushed a strand of hair, bright and lustrous as spun gold, from his face, leaving a streak of blood where his fingers touched his skin. "A lesson for your next life."

The miqo'te spoke with an odd sort of cavalier quality to his voice. It didn't feel real; they might have been sparring, except that his opponent was now winding up for a two-handed deathblow.

Steel flashed. The light of the setting sun caught on the blade's edge, giving it a crimson glow. Petronius felt a bolt of terror go through him. And then he felt nothing at all.

#Jude Paw #Petronius Stone #drabble #FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV RP

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