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#i hate this plot
weaver-z · 10 months
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Dumb rant about art incoming. Something about the character design of Pixar's Elemental disgusts me. It's not just the generic belongs-in-a-heartburn-ad look of the female lead or the Generic Pixar Man (water edition) look of the male lead. It's the fact that the earth and air elementals, almost all of whom are background characters, are stout and large and round, while the protagonists (and certain water and fire side characters) still follow the obnoxious Pixar "slimthick woman, slightly out-of-shape (but not fat!!) man" rule of character design. And they're all just so, so boring. Look at this and try to feel anything.
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sunderwight · 3 months
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Bingqiu roleswap where disciple Shen Yuan knows he's gay, and figures out that he has a big huge crush on his handsome Shizun, but also concludes nearly at once that he's not going to be drawing Luo Binghe's eye any time soon. Firstly, Luo Binghe is notoriously straight. Secondly, even if he weren't, he wouldn't go for his scrawny untalented nerd of a disciple! Shen Yuan's not bad looking, not before or after transmigrating, but he's neither a beautiful nor a hot manly man, and he assumes if Luo Binghe were into dudes he'd be into the same kinds of twunks that Shen Yuan likes. Guys on his own level, etc etc.
Plus Luo Binghe hated the original disciple Shen, and only started to warm up to the transmigrated version after Shen Yuan got injured in front of him trying to stop the other disciples on the peak from killing a small animal. For some reason, Luo Binghe brought Shen Yuan medicine. He got even nicer after Shen Yuan distracted the skinner demon by trying to convince it to take his skin instead of Luo Binghe's, and then again when Shen Yuan successfully fought off a demon invader -- though initially when Luo Binghe volunteered him for that job, he thought it was an assassination attempt. His heart was in his throat when Luo Binghe nearly took a poisoned blow for him, but luckily he reacted more quickly and got hit by the thorns instead. His heavenly demon blood took care of the poison, and he managed to convince everyone that he narrowly avoided getting cut at all.
Shen Yuan's careful not to read anything into it when Luo Binghe finds out about his, erm, uncomfortable dormitory situation and moves him into the side room, or when he completely messes up trying to make dinner and Luo Binghe takes over cooking and bans him from the kitchen (he swears he's not actually that bad at cooking, he just never had to use a kitchen without a microwave or an electric hot plate before...)
After all, it's not like Luo Binghe is cooking for him, he's just making food he likes and letting Shen Yuan eat it too! Because he's nice! He's way nicer than the book gave him credit for being, see, clearly Shen Yuan was correct in signing up for his defense squad, "top ten worst villains of all time" his ass that poll was nonsense...
Unfortunately, though, the plot's still gotta plot. Shen Yuan is heartbroken when the Immortal Alliance Conference rolls around and his shizun stabs him and throws him down into the Endless Abyss. Heartbroken, but not surprised. After all, it was always going to go this way, wasn't it?
But at least, now that it's done, he has some agency in how he reacts to it. He's changed the story enough that he doesn't need to go get revenge. Maybe Luo Binghe's still the villain of his story, maybe that was inevitable, but some heroes let the villains get away. Don't they? It's all part of that noble, breaking the cycle of abuse type stuff. He can be that kind of hero. He can let it go. As long as he avoids Luo Binghe altogether, it should be fine, right? It's not like he's obligated to turn people into human sticks. He asked the system, he's definitely not!
Technically he's not even required to conquer the demon realms. He just has to get out of the Abyss and the be sufficiently cool and/or tragic. Conquest is just one means of doing that, and not even Shen Yuan's preferred, since he doesn't exactly want to rule over anybody. Going around the demon realms beating up some jackasses and rescuing some damsels in distress and becoming sworn brothers with Shang Qinghua, one of the current demon kings, is suitable. He definitely doesn't want to marry any of the damsels he encounters (thank fuck the system lets him off the hook for that!)
But eventually he has to go back to the human world. Not only is it mandated by the system, but he also misses living there. The demonic realms are in many ways better than expected, plus a lot of the monsters are really cool, but he misses the weather and plants and the people he's more accustomed to being around.
He misses Qing Jing Peak, if he's being honest with himself. Shizun's cooking and the bamboo forest and the crisp mountain breezes, the comforts of home.
Not that he can actually go back there in specific. Of course not. If he did that, Luo Binghe would try to kill him, or else the system would try and make him kill Luo Binghe. Bad ideas all around. No, he can't go back to Qing Jing Peak, but he can go find someplace nicer than the demon realms at least. He just has to keep a low profile, which shouldn't be hard since the original goods did that even while actively scheming to kill his former master!
Except.
Everywhere he goes, suddenly Luo Binghe is also there?!
Good thing Shen Yuan thought to take a page out of the book of Luo Binghe's actual love interest, Liu Mingyan, and start wearing a veil. He just didn't want any randos who might have seen him at the Immortal Alliance Conference or on any of the other missions his shizun sent him on to recognize him. But one minute he's investigating a strange case in Jinlan City, and the next the streets are full of Huan Hua cultivators (Shen Yuan has no intention of joining them, that's the path the original took to getting revenge! He doesn't want revenge!), and then Luo Binghe and Sect Leader MBJ and Peak Lord SHL show up, and SY is ducking down alleys and hiding behind columns, just trying to stay out of the way until the lockdown on Jinlan lifts and he can leave.
Except...
Luo Binghe really isn't acting like himself?
He looks like he hasn't been eating or sleeping well. There are dark circles around his eyes, and something almost melancholy in his countenance. And he's dressed entirely in white, none of the usual Qing Jing greens and blues anywhere to be seen. Of even greater concern, he's being reckless. Shen Yuan can't stop himself from rushing out when he sees his former shizun get infected by a sower demon.
Luckily, it's been some years since the last time they saw one another. Shen Yuan's gained a few inches in height, so he's almost at eye-level with his old master now, and though he's still more slender than bulky he's picked up some totally new styles from training the demon realms. He doesn't move the same way he used to. With that, plus the veil, it's enough for him to quickly swallow back his words as he grabs Luo Binghe and quickly administers a cure for the sower infection.
Well, he has one of course. He wouldn't need it himself, heavenly demon blood and all, but his time running around playing hero in the demon realms meant he rescued a lot of humans from such fates. Which is hard to do if you don't have a cure to their afflictions, but between him and Shang Qinghua, sourcing such things was almost easy.
Luo Binghe looks at him like he's just seen a ghost. The other Cang Qiong sect members are alarmed by SY suddenly accosting one of their own and of course find him suspicious, so he runs away right after, and then he has to lose Sha Hualing's pursuit in the city.
But what else could he do? He manages to evade the system's attempts to railroad him into meeting Gongyi Xiao, avoids the rest of the Cang Qiong crowd, and drops some of the cure through the current Qian Cao peak lord's window to get the incident sorted out. Then he flees and puts a good amount of distance between himself, Jinlan City, and every righteous sect he can think of.
The only problem is that after this point, Luo Binghe is everywhere.
Any time Shen Yuan stays in one place for longer than a few days, Qing Jing disciples start turning up. Any time he takes a job hunting some cool-sounding monster or pursuing some interesting tome of knowledge, the better to satisfy the system, it seems like Luo Binghe has selected and gone after the exact same target! Which is especially annoying because back when SY was a disciple, Luo Binghe was always assigning him to do this stuff. Since when does his chronic homebody master have an interesting in six-tailed scorpion lemurs or ancient spiritual kilns?
What's weirder, though, are the rumors.
It seems like any time SY stops at some well-populated place and asks for the latest gossip, he has to hear about how the Qing Jing peak lord lost his beloved disciple during the Immortal Alliance Conference, and mourned like a widow, and now wanders the earth in search of solace for his grief. Seeking something, possibly even the ghost of his dear disciple.
What nonsense! Luo Binghe threw SY into the Abyss himself. He had to do it, it was the plot! And also his obligation as a righteous cultivator, confronted with a "dangerous" half-demon. Does it sting? Yes it stings! That's why SY wouldn't just forget it! Despite logically knowing it's pointless, is there some part of him that wishes his master would have chosen differently? That thinks he should have known that no matter what kind of power Shen Yuan had, he would never use it to hurt people recklessly, or harm innocents, or especially not harm... well. It's pointless, his blood condemned him, and if there is some part of Luo Binghe which regrets what happened, it's doubtless just that he unwittingly harbored a monster for so long.
Which is fine and Shen Yuan would leave it at that, if the guy would just let him!
But no. Instead he has to deal with Luo Binghe turning up and asking him questions, trying to get him to talk (SY has no hope of disguising his voice, if he says anything he's not even sure it won't crack as he comes perilously close to tears instead, so he just stays silent), and then asking for his name, asking if he's mute, asking about his background, his sect, his kin. Is his a righteous cultivator? Where did he get that sword? (NOT Xin Mo, thanks, he used that thing once and then tossed it back into the Abyss before the portal finished closing behind him -- he knows a poisoned chalice when he sees one, although knowing the plot twist about that sword from the novel sure helped.) Where did he learn those forms? Is he... does he have a safe place to go home to? Someone to tend his injuries? Make sure he eats his meals?
SY, of course, stays silent. But it's difficult. Not only because Luo Binghe asks, but because he still looks... bad. Sunken, sorrowful, desperate almost. Shen Yuan can't figure out if he knows or not. Maybe he's unsure, maybe he's looking for SY to give him a sign, so that he can figure him out and then flip a switch and try to finish the job he started.
That can't happen. If they fight, SY will win, and he doesn't want to hurt Luo Binghe.
But even if Luo Binghe's not a heavenly demon, he is a highly accomplished cultivator, and it seems he's got his own breaking points to reach. Eventually he corners SY and gets a hand on his veil, and for a moment SY is sure he's going to rip it off, see his face, and confront him all "I knew it was you, you twisted evil demon, you won't escape justice a second time" and he feels a deep, icy terror close around his lungs--
Luo Binghe lets go of the veil before he can lift it.
But then something even worse happens. Because Shen Yuan's handsome, peerless, noble master breaks down. He falls to his knees, begging forgiveness, sobbing, clutching at his head like he's being driven to madness.
It all spills out of him, then. How he pushed his own dearest disciple into the Abyss, which obviously SY already knew, but also how he was apparently qi-deviating the whole time, and his senses could not differentiate between one kind of demonic "threat" and another. How he realized what he'd done only after he regained his senses hours later, and rushed back to the place where the tear to the Abyss had opened, but could not find a way in after the one he lost. How he had betrayed and thrown away the only person who cared about him, and couldn't even explain that he hadn't intended to. How he would accept anything, any punishment, hatred, penance, or revenge, if only he could see his disciple's face once more.
SY is stunned.
Apparently, Luo Binghe hadn't rejected him for his demon blood?
Not only that, but beforehand, he seemed to have valued Shen Yuan a lot more than Shen Yuan would have credited.
Is it a trick? Is he lying? SY would have guessed so, would have assumed that Luo Binghe's plan was to lull him into complacency only to turn on him once he finally had confirmation. But somehow, he just... doesn't think this is an insincere display. His old master is too cool for this stuff! He has too much dignity to just throw it away on a scheme! There are other ways to get what he wants.
Even if it is a lie, Shen Yuan is tired of running. He's the hero. He won't actually lose, and if it comes to it, it's still in his hands to decide if he wants to spare Luo Binghe or not (he does, of course he does, even if this whole spiel is an act). Plus he's got a backup plant body in one of Shang Qinghua's greenhouses if all goes to shit.
He takes the veil off himself.
Luo Binghe, teary-eyed, stares at him as if his face is the most beautiful he's ever seen.
Shen Yuan nearly puts the veil back on. His cheeks heat up. Dear Shizun, aren't you an immortal master? A noble peak lord? Isn't it your calling to vanquish demons? Get up off the dirty ground right this minute! Where did your dignity go? Shen Yuan did not spend all those nights doing the laundry to watch his teacher dirty his knees for no good reason!
There's a quaver in Luo Binghe's voice as he points out that Shen Yuan was terrible at doing laundry. Luo Binghe had to redo it the day after, all the time.
Shen Yuan chides at him that he should have made one of the other disciples do it then.
Luo Binghe just laughs, and stays on the ground, until finally Shen Yuan has to physically pull him up. Muttering about how he's being ridiculous, what's he crying for, why's he been moping so much, doesn't he know that handsome face should never look so bereft? Then he realizes what he's saying and shuts his mouth, but Luo Binghe just looks happy for the first time in years. Since the Abyss. How is it possible that SY, who actually had to slog through that awful place, can still smile more than Luo Binghe, who didn't?
They're standing so close. Holding on to one another. Almost as if... as if the scene's tone is... well...
Oh what the hell!
Shen Yuan closes the last little bit of distance between them, and kisses Luo Binghe.
#svsss#scum villain's self saving system#bingqiu#long post#of course the plot probably interferes further then#turns out that while luo binghe was desperately trying to get sy back he accidentally woke up sy's father#who for this au let's say is sj instead of tlj#sj does NOT approve of this match and also hates all the righteous cultivators (and demons... and everyone mostly...)#but he is also busy trying to resurrect yqy or something#kidnaps sy like well I missed the chance to raise you and actually that's probably for the best but now I need your blood#for Reasons#luo binghe is not a fan of this turn of events#reverse holy mausoleum arc when SY is mostly unconscious except to sometimes throw out advice and LBH is dodging traps and villains#the pining-over-the-dead-shizun arc is probably AFTER the holy mausoleum and lbh self-destructs to rescue sy from sj's plans#sy refuses to accept this outcome he decided luo binghe was NOT to die he didn't need a redemption arc he was FINE sy DECIDED#but luckily they're in the holy mausoleum so sy grabs a resurrection artifact of some kind#has to spend a few years restoring and maintaining lbh's corpse before he can get the to actually work but it's fine#he's fine everything's fine he's GOING to get lbh back lbh is NOT ALLOWED TO DIE#luckily unhinged sy results in way less collateral damage than unhinged lbh#so mostly he just fights off mbj's attempts to honorably recover his shidi's body and offer him a proper burial#while camping out in the holy mausoleum and arguing with sj's detached body parts#y'know normal healthy behavior
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sunlightnmoonshine · 1 month
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I don't know whether anyone has talked about this yet but wasn't the main point about the Jet storyline, that fire nation ppl shouldn't just be killed off as revenge?? Wasn't it also supposed to be an instance of comparison between what a good leader is and what an edgy leader is aka sokka being the former and jet being the latter?? Wasn't it also supposed to be an instance that made katara sad because she bonded with jet over the loss of their family and nearly went down a dangerous path because of him??
1. How is replacing it with oh let's kill the scientist guy that's helping the fire nation and use that as an opportunity to kill the royals too a good change? Thereby taking away substantially from the whole innocent "fire nation" ppl shouldn't be punished for the actions of, plot point which is very relevant to the thematics of the story?
2. Why take away sokka's intuition as a leader and instead turn it into a sibling squabble where sokka has literally no role in the Jet storyline except that he appreciates Sai and doesn't think he should be killed? And instead have katara through one tiny whip of water save the day?? Thereby taking away a part of sokka's growth, even though this live action loves shoving it down everyone's throat that sokka's personality trait is that he's obsessed with being a leader?
3. Why take away from katara's emotional range? And how her fight with jet was fuelled by rage that she's coming to terms with and how betrayed she felt?? What does having jet say her waterbending is good because of him and have her say, no its because of her, add to the story??? It's like the live action is obsessed with highlighting that katara is a master water bender (which is incorrect since she trained hard and got very good at it) and that she doesn't have the emotional bandwidth to express mixed emotions?? Also their interaction, was supposed to highlight how even if two ppl suffer the same way, their approaches in response can still be very different and that revenge is not the answer, which is foreshadowing to katara's journey in the story.
I just don't understand why the story had to go in this direction and I certainly don't understand how one can be okay with how much they chipped off in relation to characters and thematics??
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poisonous-honey · 2 months
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Fontaine Is Committing Childe Slander fr
Spoilers For The 4.2 Archon Quest
Content: Sagau reader insert (not the cult au), a lot of swearing
Note: Wrote this a while ago, just didn't post till now. This was written because of how frustrated I was with Childe's treatment in the quest. They did him so, so dirty.
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"WHAT THE FUCK!?"
Hearing your scream, Neuvillette, Aether, and Paimon nearly flinched and gave themselves away if it wasn't for Skirk quickly turning around and staring them dead in their eyes.
"AFTER ALL OF THAT, WE DON'T EVEN GET TO TALK TO HIM? WHAT THE HELL"
They never liked hearing you get upset, but since this was a scripted event, they could do nothing but play their parts. Aether wanted nothing more than to jump in and find Childe for you, if even just to get you to stop yelling, but his hands were tied. And seeing the intense look the lady across from him was giving, he doesn't think he'd be able to get away with it even if he tried.
"No 'hey, how're you doing? What's up? Where the fuck did you go? How did you end up fighting a god-damn space whale? I was worried.' We really get to say none of that? Skirk just throws him away like he's yesterday's trash? At least, I think that's Skirk... Okay, fine, whatever."
The group notices a slight twitch in Skrik's expression, as if she was annoyed, but it's gone not a moment later.
"Skirk I hope you're kinda funny cause this is a terrible first impression."
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Skirk watches as Neuvillette sends the traveller topside, hoping that he starts the scripted conversation without any hassle.
"Was it necessary to throw him so aggressively into the portal?"
Of course, that's not what happened. If Childe's mad ramblings were anything to go by, all of those that become the players "characters" seem to grow inexplicably attached to them. She didn't hold his words in high regard since he was insane, but seeing the hydro sovereign already taking a liking to you gives some weight to his words.
"He’s fine. It’s nothing he can’t handle."
Neuvillette, still looking troubled, tells her that you really wanted to see him again after nearly 2 years of nothing.
"Didn't you also upset the player when you pounced on him and sent him to prison for no good reason?"
Neuvillette gave a slight wince, "I had no other choice. The Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale gave the sentence and the law must be upheld."
Skirk doesn’t look amused, Neuvillette just sighs "... And the action itself was scripted. I had my hands tied."
"Then you have no right to look so troubled over my actions. It was simply scripted, nothing deeper. I would not intentionally go looking to upset the player, especially since they can control whoever they want. I have no desire to go back to the surface, which I would be forced to if they ever felt like messing with me."
He hums, "The player has much less control than you think. Even if they wanted to take control of you, they wouldn't or shouldn't be able to do so for quite a while. Falling into their good graces is the only way to get chosen, and you seem to have only just piqued their interest."
Neuvillette was just stating facts. He heard you crying about how your latest wishing session for Furina took everything you had. He doubts even if Skirk’s banner was a couple patches from now you'd have enough to get her. Skirk herself looks a little frustrated at the mention of gaining your favour, but quickly lets it go. 
"As long as I have time to prepare, I suppose. Anyway, We should have our scripted conversation before time runs out. Unless you want them to start freaking out again."
"Of course not, let us continue."
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"The fuck do you mean he's already in Snezhnaya."
Lyney's eyes slightly widen in shock, not expecting that visceral of a reaction. Aether slightly shakes his head to try and get him not to worry about it while Paimon starts her bashful idle as a way to look elsewhere without arising suspicion.
"We don't even get to say goodbye, what the heck. Wait, we never even figured out what was going on with his vision either. They actually just threw him to the wayside! If he doesn't show up in the next interlude, I'm going to be ☆mad☆"
Aether tilts his head down as he starts to ponder. He was also a bit frustrated with how little they learned about what was going on with him. Obviously the whal- Narwhal was involved in someway, but nothing is explained outside their connection. He's suddenly ripped from his thoughts as you pick his next dialogue option and continue the story.
The story continues for a little bit as Arlecchino arrives to join the conversation. You add in some quips of your own as you're watching, but are mostly silent. They just take it as you being tired from the whirlwind of emotions the quest put you through.
Aether then realizes the next actions he has to take and struggles to keep a straight face.
*Actually, I just remembered something... Please help us deliver this.*
"I swear to god, don't give her Childe's vision. He hates her. He trusted us."
Aether can no longer hold back his wince as he holds out Childe's vision for Arlecchino to take. She almost looks amused as they hear you sigh.
"Goddammit."
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Childe was in agony.
This pain went far beyond his physical injuries. The last words he heard from you were you crying out to him. It frustrated him to no end that by the time he gets to see you again, he passes out. He can barely remember your words of praise and cooing about how cool he was for fighting such a creature. Your worry and the fact he doesn't even get to talk to you after all this time hasn't left the forefront of his mind since he woke up. Injuries be damned, he wanted to find the Traveller. He wanted to get something out of that vacation, more than just one conversation, getting arrested, and an incomplete fight. He thought that as long as you still had his vision, he would surely see you again and his vacation would end smoothly, but of course the story seemed to have it out for him. All he could do now was lay here in pain, stuck in his mind while his family is off doing something else.
He's upset he didn't get to finish his fight and that you had to finish it for him.
He's upset his foul legacy has taken such a toll on his body, he can't do anything.
He's upset that his family has to see him in such a state.
He's upset he missed your first encounter with Skirk.
He's upset he didn't even get to talk to you again.
And more than anything, he's upset he can't be there for you.
As he was about to continue wallowing in self-pity and regret, he suddenly finds himself fully geared, standing in front of the Abyss, with no injuries.
"Such bullshit. I loved the story quest, but why was Childe pushed to the side. It's almost like they had no idea what to do with him after they got him to the whale. Oh! It's just one of the creatures he's been wanting to fight for nearly all his life. Do we get to know how he feels about it? Nooo of course not. My man just wanted to go on vacation, and he had to deal with all of this."
Hearing your voice almost washes away all his stress, and hearing you complain about how he was treated washes away all his sorrow. It pleases him to know you hated what happened to him just as much, if not more, than he did. He could tell from your ranting and the fact you've already gotten 36 stars that you were going to fight just to let off steam. That's perfect for him. Killing something is just what he needs to take his mind off of recent events, killing things with and for you makes it even better. He'll be sure to make the best of this before you log off for the day, and he's back to being bedridden.
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A Starstruck Odyssey, ep. 11 - "Flee From Fantanimalland" // Fantasy High: Junior Year, ep. 10 - "Cursed Out"
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uhlunaro · 8 months
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RIPE FOR THE PICKING (I)
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pairing: ID!leon kennedy x gn!reader
summary: Faking a marriage is easy—so you thought. But your life-or-death mission leaves the door wide open for feelings to fester. Feelings that you really do not have time for.
words: 7.2k
warnings: strong mentions of domestic violence, shady business practices, predatory Umbrella execs, kidnapping, canon-typical violence, partners to fake spouses to friends to lovers (soon)
notes: this has been a long time in the making, based on a smut week request that got a lot bigger than i ever could’ve imagined. i know nothing about government agencies but this is resident evil so who cares right (pls dont yell at me)!!
>> PART TWO
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It feels wrong. Being with him like this.
Your ring finger’s been branded by the weight of cold metal—a gift from your supervisors for a long-term mission abroad. Just you and him, two rabbits trapped within a woodland wolf camp: the inner circle of Umbrella’s most elite. Hundreds of apex predators with their keen noses and hair-trigger reflexes and you cannot fuck this up. One wrong move means an unveiling means swift death.
Leon isn’t your husband. The marriage papers are forged, and the engraving inside of both rings (forever yours) means as much as his hollow affections. Barely even friends before this. Just two people with opposing skill sets and long-term bioterrorism expertise—a match made in USSTRATCOM heaven.
“Trouble in paradise?” asks the woman to your right. Elegant in her older age, bejeweled from hair to feet—she favors emeralds and silk fabrics, supplemented by her husband’s high-paying salary. A family you seek to infiltrate. One of many.
She’s made it very easy. Umbrella’s welcome party, apparently. Kind enough to invite you over for wine while Leon sets plans in motion back at home base.
“What makes you say that, ma’am?”
She scoffs, finishes the last of her drink, closes her book, removes her glasses. Leans over the armrest of a thick-cushioned chair to where you sit beside her. “You’ve fiddled with your ring this entire conversation, which means something’s on your mind. Most likely something husband-shaped.”
Every Umbrella higher-up possesses the same preternatural wit. Sometimes, you fear breathing wrong lest the members discover your ruse, and that perception only sharpens with age—couldn’t last long with the company otherwise.
This time, however, you’re one step ahead.
You breathe out a sigh and regard her with a pinched brow. “Can I ask you something? In confidence?”
She refills her glass halfway with deep red wine and takes a sip, smudging same-colored lipstick along the rim. “Of course, my dear.”
“How do you know if someone’s… cheating on you?”
Her lips purse, gaze casting to the floor. “You just know. But it wouldn’t matter anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“As spouses, we support our husbands in all their endeavors. No matter how much it hurts us.” At your widened eyes, she smiles. A broken thing, thin, resigned. “Think about it for a moment. With the resources at their disposal, what do you think they would do if we tried to leave?”
Not exactly the information you were seeking. Painful all the same. A perspective you hadn’t considered.
“That’s horrible.”
She rests a wrinkled hand over yours, thumbs at the metal of your ring. “You’re still young, which is why I’m telling you this. It’s not worth it. Let him do what he wants, and when the time comes, you swallow your pain.”
You carry her advice back to your false home where Leon awaits, files strewn across the dining room table, mid-conversation with a burner-phone Hunnigan.
He turns at the sound of your footsteps. Says, “We got word from the informant. I’m heading to the facility tomorrow.”
You take a seat at the table as Hunnigan greets you over the speaker, and you return with your own pleasantries. “So they got you a badge?”
He nods. Pulls out the chair to sit beside you. “How’d your visit with Mary go?”
“I still can’t get over how big their fucking house is.”
Hunnigan cuts in, voice rough from the static. “Did you find anything of note?”
“No. I mean, I know she likes to read in her library, she enjoys red wine, she—wait. Actually.” You turn to Leon with a solemn frown. “There’s trouble in paradise.”
His gaze sharpens, and the line of his back straightens. “What do you mean?”
“Well—okay. I might’ve told her that I think you’re cheating on me.” As his mouth opens, you raise a hand to give him pause. “I thought it would be a good way to cover our asses and get some dirt on them.”
What better excuse for aloofness than adultery?
“Did you?” Hunnigan asks.
“A lot more than I expected. From what I gather, the elite get up to a lot of… morally questionable shit in regards to the treatment of their spouses.”
“That’s kind of a given, Nightingale.”
He still hasn’t referred to you by your real name. Either by alias or code, despite the latter’s arguable lengthiness. And it shouldn’t affect you as much as it does. A silly thing to find hurt feelings over, but it sours your mood. Leaves you bristling.
“But to hear it from an actual victim. I saw the look in her eyes, Leon.”
He leans in close, drops his voice to a low grumble. “These people aren’t victims. Don’t let them get in your head. We have a mission to focus on.”
Through your nose you exhale a tired sigh and look away to follow the woodgrain of the oak-stained table. He’s wrong. Didn’t hear what you heard, see what you saw. “You seem to forget that my specialty is subterfuge. Reading people, blending in, manipulation. I know what I’m talking about.”
“I remember perfectly fine, actually. You seem to forget what Umbrella’s capable of.” You meet his glare, stubborn and unyielding, then lean back in your chair.
Raccoon City stains deep, leaves him wary and standoffish. You’ve read his file. Little more than two dozen pages of redacted writing, but word of mouth spreads. A man like him doesn’t just fall under the radar, and government officials love to talk. To you, especially.
After a long moment, he brushes the hair from his eyes and turns back to the messy spread of papers. “We just need to be careful, okay?”
“You need to stay focused. Both of you.” Hunnigan, bemused by your arguing. “Do whatever it takes to complete this mission.”
Your first real party as newlyweds. The ballroom is brightly lit, spanning half a football field of sparkling chandeliers and velvet settees and champagne glasses filled with diamonds. Neither of you belong here, but you walk through the doors hand-in-hand, and you wave to those who recognize you, and attempting to navigate public affection through the lens of realism proves difficult.
This was a sore idea, in hindsight. Choosing an era commonly characterized by the most intense love and affection and happiness of the entire relationship. You should have spun a different story. A better one. But Umbrella didn’t seem an arranged-marriage type. From your research, most of their scientists got married around this age anyway.
Maybe you try too hard to fit in, and maybe that’s obvious. The wolves love fresh meat, and you and Leon are fresh out the cradle. It puts you at a disadvantage, leaves you as vulnerable as a fresh wound.
“I’ve noticed that you and your husband aren’t quite as… in love as newlyweds usually are.”
Carina Voerman: an absolute snake of a woman. The wife of an exec. Nosy to an impressive degree. An unconventional beauty, a stand-out. Every facet of her personality perfectly engineered for subterfuge.
What you wouldn’t give to pick her brain.
“The move has been… stressful, to say the least.”
“Let me guess.” She joins you against the wall, glossy lips pursing, and gazes off to where Leon mingles with his new work friends. “He’s staying out late, won’t tell you where he’s been. He keeps his phone a little too close.” When you say nothing, she turns to give you a wincing smile. Soothes a palm down your arm. “I thought my last husband was cheating? Come to find out, he was looking to use me in his experiments.”
You swallow down your surprise alongside the bitter taste of white wine, and your tongue almost sours in response. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She brushes a dark curl away from her forehead and it falls immediately back into place. “I’ve heard much worse stories than my own. You’ll get used to it.”
A few weeks ago, you would have doubted that, but you’ve heard stories as well. Each more horrific than the last.
“But I digress,” she continues, plucking a pack of cigarettes from her purse. “Do you smoke?”
Rarely, but when in Rome…. “Of course I do. Cigarettes are my very own brand of Vicodin.”
She laughs into the back of her hand, and the bejeweled bracelets on her wrist jingle. “I’ve never heard such a thing, but I think I’ll steal that.”
“They said it a lot where we used to live.”
She lights up her cigarette and exhales from the corner of her mouth. “You moved from the States, right?”
From your peripheral, Leon approaches. Gives you a stilted smile and pauses a moment before you outstretch a hand. Embrace me, dumbass.
The exchange is painfully awkward, slow-moving, and Carina clicks her tongue in disapproval. “You’re supposed to pretend at these events, my dears.”
Leon’s fingers tighten about your waist, and your heart soars up into your throat, each beat pulsing and painful. Her eyes narrow to a piercing scrutiny, and Leon turns to kiss you soft on the cheek. She could mean two different things, and only one of them would bring you relief.
She hums. “Aren’t you just the cutest couple?” Stamps out the lingering burn of her cigarette’s filter in the ashtray sat on the high table. “I suggest you keep each other close. The wolves around here tend to prowl.”
You aren’t sure if it’s a threat or a warning—maybe both. But you know not to underestimate her. Anybody, for that matter.
She leaves with a wave of manicured fingers, and Leon slumps against the wall at your back. Says, “Well. We might be fucked.”
“To be fair, you could’ve at least acted like you enjoy my presence.”
“I didn’t wanna overstep.”
You turn to glare at him. “We are married. I implore you to remember that.”
“Then as your husband,” he takes the half-smoked cigarette from between your fingers and smothers it inside the ashtray, “it breaks my heart to see you smoking.”
“It’s social.”
“It also kills people.”
With a starry smile, you lean your head on his shoulder. “Wow. So you do care.”
“I kinda have to.”
With a roll of your eyes, you push him away. “Oh, fuck you.”
It seems like a great idea. Fantastic, really. Your intimacy appears staged. Your safety, along with your chance of success, is up in the air. Not to mention, he’s a pretty man and you’re undeniably caged by touch-starvation.
Be honest with yourself: it’s the only idea.
You work on kisses first. Practice loving pecks. His lips pillow soft against your own, over and over and over again until you relax into the motion and instinct takes over—the caress of an arm here, the cradle of a neck there. It isn’t weird. It should be, but you tell yourselves that the mission takes priority. Nothing matters above this: swearing fealty to your roles.
You practice daily. When you leave for book clubs and gossip circles and brunch. (Yes, you’re eating brunch now.) When he leaves for the facility and late night bar-hopping and some top-secret locations he can’t even divulge to you.
It becomes easy. Second-thought.
Mary hosts a wine-tasting and invites most of the spouses from the facility. It’s extravagant as always, the furniture cleaned to the point of glittering, the dining room stocked with a feast of military-sized portions. Everyone gathers inside one of two seating rooms, chatting and laughing and sharing gossip with razor-sharp glances.
But you miss Leon. He always accompanies you to the large events, and you’ve found a certain comfort in his presence. Umbrella’s social dynamics ensure that he holds power in conversation, that you’re little more than set dressing. Being here, nothing but a little lamb on stumbling legs utterly ripe for the picking, leaves you appreciating the buffer of his standing a lot more.
“Oh, you look so pitiful standing in the corner like this.” Mary embraces you with a comforting smile, then hands you a tall glass of pale pink wine. “My husband just received this new shipment from Italy and it’s absolutely wonderful. I think you’ll like it.”
She’s become somewhat of a friend over the last few months. Treats you kindly, offers advice, shares with you her books and recipes and jewelry.
Missions like this require a certain amount of vulnerability to keep masks authentic, but trust is a slippery slope and you’re sure to break a few bones lest you fortify a few on-guard spikes.
Regardless, you think you’ll miss her when this is over.
You’ll surely miss the wine that you sip from your glass. A note of sweet strawberry that lingers bitter on the back of your tongue. Whether from the nerves or your actual enjoyment, you could drink the whole bottle.
“This is amazing. Sweet wines are very under-appreciated.”
A look of pride gleams on her face, and she nods to your glass. “I can send you home with a bottle, if you’d like.”
“That would be lovely.”
She nods her head over to the center of the room, where the other spouses mingle. “Why don’t you join us?”
Everyone greets you with their usual pleasantries. A woman a few years your junior compliments your outfit. Another offers you a tray of hors d’oeuvres.
“So,” begins the woman to your right, “I’ve noticed a change between you and your husband at our last few parties.” Spoken hushed, like the truest form of gossip. “I could almost call you love birds.”
The smile that graces your face is genuine this time. Easy. “Yes. We had a bit of a rough patch, but we’ve worked things out.”
A few people coo in response, others gush amongst themselves. How sad, in a way, to find a smile so enviable. But the shift in attitude was easy. Just a few kisses and suspicions are destroyed. You aren’t sure whether it speaks to your experience or their own romantic yearning.
Then comes the hard part. Sharing a bed. Leon proves horrible as a bed partner. He steals the covers, rolls onto you, possesses a mean snore. But the most egregious sin is one he can’t control at all, that chills you down to your marrow, that breaks your heart into each individual atom: nightmares. They plague him frequently, and you wake to him calling unfamiliar names, to rogue elbows sore-ing up your face, to his childlike clinging.
Most everybody working in this field has nightmares, but his. His are different. Personal.
On very rare occasions, he whispers about them inside the pitch-black limbo of your shared bedroom. The split-second blink of his mother’s hair, the tick of his father’s watch. He can’t remember what they look like, not anymore, but slivers of memory cut through the empty longing.
It’s the first time you truly see him. Leon. Less star-striking agent and more man, wet clay shaped around a shell of suffering.
His transparency gives you permission to sink between the fresh gaps in his guard and dare to know him. It isn’t about the mission anymore. You come from a place of sincerity.
Maybe it’s the loneliness. He’s the only ally you’ll have for the foreseeable future. Why not learn about him? Become friends?But everything is… weird. Friends do not kiss each other. They don’t cuddle before bed. They aren’t faking a relationship.
The first time you both say I love you on instinct, you’re settled in for the night. The lights shut off, sheets cozy, his body warm against yours.
It just comes out. Good night, Leon. Love you.
He laughs, a puff of breath against your nape, and you wish for the mattress to swallow you whole. Your eyes squint shut. Your face buzzes to numbness. Until,
Night, Birdie. Love you, too.
You have the best sleep in weeks, and you wonder what the fuck that means.
Leon calls you early on a Tuesday morning. Says he forgot his lunch, that you need to bring it by the facility.
You aren’t sure how Hunnigan pulled the strings, but he works alongside the businessmen in charge of hiding Umbrella’s dealings. Access to secret files, special projects, names upon names names upon names of suspects.
Your target is here, somewhere in this building. Selling off Umbrella’s most dangerous viruses to the highest bidder, and catching him means busting the whole operation wide open. Linking who knows how many corporations and billionaires to shady dealings. Finding him amongst the sea of guilty faces will be difficult.
The facility is stark-white walls and fluorescent lights and open-plan rooms but you’ve never felt more claustrophobic. People mill about on their lunch break, bright red and green and blue badges hung about their necks. A headache starts behind your eyes just as you check in at the front desk.
Once your identity has been confirmed, the pretty receptionist hands you a bright yellow badge with heavy black font that spells out VISITOR, then leads you through a maze of hallways, past office doors and lounges and holy shit how big is this place?
Finally, she pauses before an inconspicuous door with a plastered-on smile. “Remember that guests are only allotted ten minutes in employee-only spaces as per our safety policy.”
“I won’t need more than five.”
With a narrow-eyed smile, she knocks thrice then opens the door. Steps aside to allow you entry.
Leon looks up from his computer before standing to embrace you with a relieved groan. Gives you a lengthy kiss before relieving you of his lunch bag. “You are amazing. I’ve been starving all day.”
“These walls are thin, if that’s of any concern to you,” says the receptionist, before she turns to leave with raised brows and a click of the door.
You blink. “Wait, is she—do people fuck inside their offices or something?”
He shrugs. “Probably.”
The room falls silent in her wake as Leon sits down at his desk, and you can’t help but think of how natural he looks like this: surrounded by monetary excess in the form of mahogany furniture, dressed in a silk button down and spit-shined shoes and the finest watch available. But it’s also odd. This isn’t him, and you know it. He looks more like himself when he’s a little disheveled, his clothes wrinkled from fighting, dressed in a tactical vest and belts and guns galore.
“Did you get my favorite?” he asks, unzipping the bag.
“Plus dessert,” you say, moving to hover over his shoulder.
Beneath the actual food, slid beneath a cut-out slice of fabric, he pulls out a set of items. A USB drive, an SD card, and a slip of paper with the email of Hunnigan’s contact written upon it.
“That’s what you wanted, right?”
“It’s perfect. Looks good, too.”
The code speak may be a bit too much, but you put nothing past Umbrella. Eyes and ears could be anywhere. These walls are thin.
“I’ll see you at home, then? Wouldn’t want the receptionist to come looking for me.”
He exhales a laugh before glancing up at you. “I may be a little late tonight, but I’ll text you.”
“Don’t forget like the last three times. You know I worry.” That they’ve figured out our secret and you lay dead in a gutter somewhere.
“I won’t. Promise.”
As you step out of his office, an odd mourning hits you much like an ice-cold wave. Always that fear—the last meeting, the last goodbye, the last fake I love you. You don’t think it’s too outlandish to say that you care about what happens to him. You wring your hands every time you imagine his potential fate.
“Excuse me.”
You blink to attention at the voice, and a man you recognize from your files approaches you, suit perfectly ironed, hands stuffed into his pockets. Leon’s boss, for all intents and purposes.
“Hello,” you say, glancing over his shoulder to where the double doors open up to reception. So close to freedom. “Can I help you?”
“I just wanted to properly introduce myself. Carl Voerman.” You accept the hand that he offers to shake. “You and your husband have been here, what, three months?”
“Four this Saturday.”
His smile makes your skin crawl. All teeth, plastic in its falsity. Sharpened canines. Every bit the wolf Carina—his wife—warned you of. “You’ve been the talk of this facility.”
“Oh, I’m sure. My husband does fantastic work.”
“That he does.” He takes a step forward, and your thighs tense to keep you in place. Much like a skittish deer. “But I’m more interested in you. Maybe we can discuss your contributions to this company over dinner.”
Your heart drops to your stomach. The last thing you wish is to be alone with this man. But he’s in your files. Could have information you need.
‘Do whatever it takes to complete this mission.’
Goddamn it, Hunnigan.
“I’d have to ask my husband, but—“
“Why? It’s just dinner.” When you give him little more than a blink, he lowers his head with a deep sigh then meets your gaze again. “The culture here is different than what you’re used to. I forget that sometimes. But my wife will be there as well, if that eases your worries.”
Soon, you’ll walk straight into the wolf’s den, and you can do nothing. The worst part? He truly thinks you believe a word he says. But you know types like him—he won’t take no for an answer, and you need no more suspicion on your behalf.
“In that case, I accept.”
“Fantastic. Friday then. I’ll have a car fetch you around seven.”
Leon doesn’t come home until eight. A fact that Carl must know. Not that it matters. You’ve already sealed your fate.
After arriving home, you beeline to the office where your files sit inside a false bottom of the desk drawer. Carl Voerman. One of many suspects. A seedy individual with a very undocumented past—a possible identity change somewhere during early adulthood. The earliest information you can find of him is when he started working for Umbrella around twenty years ago as a temp, then quickly worked his way up the corporate ladder. And now, he leads an entire department.
A few HR complaints that led nowhere, business dealings with unnamed companies. He sounds like your guy, but most every higher-up shares a similar story.
So you need a plan to get him talking. Need him vulnerable.
You research late into the night, long after Leon comes home. Hunnigan helps from her place on speaker phone, finding connections with other members of the company, helping you fill in the blanks of Carl’s timeline.
Neither of them know what you’re planning, that you even spoke to him earlier, and you hope to keep it that way.
Leon does his part in all this. He needs no more danger breathing down his neck, weighing on his shoulders. It’s time you do yours.
Friday evening rolls around, and Carl shows up not a minute late. He greets you at the front door with his usual smile, says you look lovely, then escorts you to the car where the driver awaits. Carina sits on the opposite row of seats, legs crossed at the knee, a half-smoked cigarette in hand. The burning tobacco bursts an ominous blister in the dark as her husband’s warmth seeps into the line of your side.
Carl turns to you, expression marble-esque. “We’ll be having dinner at my home tonight. I hope you like salmon.”
You won’t be eating anything if you can help it. No telling what he’ll do to your plate. “I love it.”
“Fantastic. My chef is one-of-a-kind. The best of the best.” He turns to his wife, and from the bleary street lights, you see her force a thin smile. “Isn’t that right, darling?”
“Of course.”
You arrive to a home of extravagance. Mansion-like in size, pearly stone on the exterior, a curved set of concrete steps leading up to the towering double doors. You’ve never felt so bottom-feeder in all your life, living in a one-bedroom apartment back home.
And you thought Mary’s home was large. How ignorant of you.
Once inside, Carina leads you to the sitting room. Her red-bottom heels snap against the marble flooring, and the black dress she wears accents the curve of her hips. Her jewelry reflects the golden accents scattered about the place, like the glorious chandelier and the statues and the photo frames.
Carina Voerman looks way too good for a man like him.
You take a seat on one end of the couch, and she occupies the one across from you. When Carl returns with a bottle of champagne and three glasses, he chooses the cushion beside yours.
“You don’t have to sit so far away. I won’t bite,” he says.
If you scoot any closer, you’ll be pressed up against him.
From the corner of your eye, Carina downs her drink. Still, she never looks at you. Instead, she reaches for the champagne again, eyeing her husband’s empty glass.
This was a goddamn mistake. Your chest fights pangs of anxiety, and your heart threatens to break open your ribcage. You knew where this could lead, and the knife holstered at your hip provides comfort, familiarity.
But you’ve been here, done this before. Threatened your own safety for the sake of a mission. Still, it never gets easier.
“I’m not sure my husband would appreciate me cuddling up to his boss.”
He laughs, a loud, bassy sound that sends your skin crawling. “I can see why he likes you. Everyone else is quite boring, wouldn’t you say?”
“I quite like boring.”
“And I don’t believe that.”
He moves in closer, spreads out a knee so it collides with yours then takes a long drink from his glass. Across the clawfoot coffee table, Carina exhales a cough.
What a horrible man, to do such a thing before his very own wife. To flirt so extensively with another man’s spouse. But you aren’t surprised. If anything, awed by his brazenness. As if you would ever entertain the thought.
“I do have a question, however.” Carl throws an arm over the back of the couch, fingers brushing against the fabric of your dress shirt. “How would you like it if I gave your husband a well-deserved promotion?”
Carina then stands and leaves to the other room, almost on some unspoken cue. You remember the dinner he supposedly arranged. Hasn’t mentioned it since. This—bringing you here, the isolation, the attempted seduction—was his plan all along.
Your mouth stretches wide into a boxy smile. “I would be ecstatic.”
“Unfortunately, these things come at a cost, you see. I have to put in a mighty good word to my peers, which I’m not sure he’s earned yet.”
He moves in closer, until you’re hip-to-hip, then leans forward with a wide grin. Every bit a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
“I thought you said he did good work.”
His grin falters, glaciers forming in the blue of his eyes. “No, you said that.”
“And you agreed. Did you not?”
Tension swells in the room, and you soothe the sudden stiffen of his body with a hand upon his knee. Squeeze just enough that the line of his shoulders calm.
“That I did. But I require a bit more persuasion.”
“I’m not sure I can give you that.”
Amidst the lengthened silence, your phone rings inside your pocket. A perfect out. A gift from the universe itself. Leon guised under a different name—a heady balm for the pain in your chest.
“I’m sorry. I need to take this.”
You measure out your steps to keep from rushing into the hallway, but your hands tremor as they answer the call. You press your back to the wall, Carl just out of sight on the couch.
Stay calm. It’s fine.
“Hey, honey.” You lower your voice, barely above a whisper.
“Hey. Everything okay? You didn’t answer the house phone.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I’m with some friends right now, so…”
He stays silent for a moment before the sound of fabric muffles against the speaker. “I thought we agreed to let each other know when we went out.”
“No, we did. I just forgot. I’m sorry.”
“When will you be home?”
“I’m not sure. Later.”
“Something’s wrong.”
“I can’t—“ Carina rounds the corner barefoot, tight curls freed from her updo. Takes guard against the opposite wall and stares your way. “I’m sorry you’re sick. Do you need me to come home?”
“What?”
“I know you always feel better when I make my special soup.”
You lock eyes with her, pinned in place by her raised brows, and all you can do is keep talking.
She knows. You know she knows. She knows and Carl is in the next room and you need a plan to get the fuck out. You’ve been in situations much worse than this, can lie with the best of them, but something about the Voermans—their ooze of power, control, wickedness—renders you novice-level in skill.
“Okay, uh. Yeah, sure.”
“I’ll be home soon.”
“Good. You can tell me what the fuck’s going on.”
You hang up, and her shadow falls upon you. A whisper of, “Follow me,” into your ear before she turns away.
You remove your shoes to heed her order, feet a light pitter against the floor, and she leads you further down the darkening hallway.
“He looks to punish me for my misbehavior,” she whispers, eyes lidded and bloodshot. “If you would like a promotion for your husband, I suggest you take him up on his offer.”
“I would never.”
“Oh, don’t act virtuous on my account.” She pauses to lean in close, perfume cloying and thick. “You think you’re the first?”
Feigning surprise, your eyes widen. “No, I don’t.”
“At least you’ve done better than them.” You see it, then. Hurt, raw and visceral, tucked between the wrinkles of her brow. “They jumped at his little opportunity. Every single one of them.“
Maybe this is why she confides. Sees some shred of loyalty within you, needs some way out to prevent drowning from her own desperation.
“Listen,” you say. “I love my husband, and I would rather lose everything than betray him like this.”
She tilts her head back. Stares down the line of her nose for a long few moments, jaw working beneath the skin. “I never thought I’d say this, but I actually believe you.”
You aren’t sure where you stand with her. She shares her suspicions—rightfully so—but still, she’s never acted untoward or disrespectful. Not like the others you’ve met. Blunt, but never rude. Shit, she even gave you advice.
“I have a question,” you say as she leads you into an office. Locks the door after you enter. “When you talked about prowling wolves, who were you referring to?”
She heads for the desk then takes a seat in the thick-cushioned chair. “Many people, dear.” She nods you over. “I slipped something into Carl’s drink, so get what you need while he’s asleep. But make it quick.”
“What?”
Her fingertips clack against the keyboard before the home screen sunburns to life.
“To protect my own safety, I can tell you nothing, and tonight never happened. Do you understand?” She rolls away from the desk to allow you room to take her place.
Oh. You get it now.
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
You search through his web browser, emails, personal files. A few emails from upper management, more business related. B.O.W. incrimination, salary cuts for bottom-rung employees, buyer information. Most of it makes little sense to you, heavily coded as it reads.
But one name sticks out. Nolan Reed. The lead virologist linked to a secret project that Carl helps fund, who pops up in files dating back three years ago—around the time USSTRATCOM had been tipped off to Umbrella’s dealings.
Okay. You have a name. Another lead. Maybe you could track this Nolan to the head of the project.
With a heavy sigh, you shut off the computer then turn to Carina. “How did you know?”
“You’re good at what you do, make no mistake. But I’m the best.” She gives you a smile, almost prideful if you squint hard enough. “As it speaks to your talents, I wasn’t entirely sure until your phone call.”
You exhale a sheepish laugh. “I panicked. Your husband’s quite scary.”
Her face falls, darkness shadowing her eyes. “Don’t I know it.”
You escape the Voermans alive. Carl snores on the couch. Carina wishes you well.
She never tells you why she helped.
Leon does a poor job at hiding his anger. A cloying tension festers throughout the house as you enter, as he rises from the couch with a huffing sigh.
“Where the hell have you been?”
You pass by him in a rush, and he grabs on to your arm. Spins you half-around, enough to catch the ghost in your eyes. “Leon, please. I don’t have time for this.”
One thing about him—he knows when to back off, leave shit for later. And he must see those ghosts swimming around, fresh as a bullet wound. Bitter as a blow to the ego. That’s why he lets you pass.
The office is a mess by the time you’ve finished pulling out files. Separating the names you recognize from the names you don’t. Leon hovers in the doorway, ice clinking against the inside of his glass. You’re guessing whiskey, but can’t chance the time-waste of looking back.
“What are you looking for?” he asks, and you almost snap. At him, in two. For all the government’s resources, all the preparation and the research—not one goddamn mention of Nolan Reed in almost a hundred files.
Maybe it’s the stress of the day. Maybe you’re worn down, threading a lost-cause needle. But biting back your anger takes every ounce of empty-tank energy left inside you.
“Nolan Reed. That name ring a bell?” You rest your head in your hands, elbows propped up on the desk.
“Who?” he asks. Steps into the room, footsteps muffled by his socks.
You look over at him, a palm clasped over your mouth, and note his lack of outfit change. Still in his suit from work, jacket undone, tie loosened. And you think.
Either an alias, or Carina Voerman played you. The latter catalyzes your downfall.
Shit. You might’ve fucked up the whole operation.
“I went to see the Voermans for dinner tonight. Had a… very lovely time.”
His shoulders tense, fingers white-knuckling his glass. “What?” You nod. It’s all you can do. “You—” His eyes close, lips drawn into his mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t wanna put you in any more danger.”
“That’s bullshit.” His glass slams to the table, and you expect a shatter than never comes. “I knew the risks when I agreed to this. So did you. And we made a deal to HQ—to each other—that we would never act alone.”
His disappointment cuts quick, and it cuts deep. Festers and wells, and fuck. You really don’t wanna cry. Not in front of him. Unprofessionalism to the highest degree. But you suppose you already crossed that bridge and burnt it to ash.
“I know. I fucked up. You don’t have to tell me.”
He spins your desk chair around, plants his hands on each arm, and stares at you. Asks, “How long have we been here?”
“Four months tomorrow.”
“And you still don’t trust me.”
“Listen, Carl approached me. Right outside your door. What was I supposed to do, say no?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know how that would’ve looked? You don’t say no to these people, Leon.”
You wish he would understand. He hasn’t heard what you’ve heard, seen what you saw. You are nothing but fodder, disposable, breakable, a means to an end, a prize. You are nothing.
“Carina told me her last husband tried to experiment on her. Mary told me that if you’re cheating, I should mind my fucking business. Lucia’s husband beats her for fun—”
“You’re in too deep with these people.”
He might as well have slapped you across the face. Given your shock, maybe he did. “I can’t fucking believe you. What happened to saving innocent people, hm? You suddenly forget about that?”
Raccoon City cuts deep.
“You seem to have forgotten a lot of things.”
He sleeps on the couch for the next week, of his own volition. Can barely look at you from across the dinner table, when you see him off for work, when you ready for bed—as if you give a shit.
You don’t need him.
You don’t.
Too busy anxiously dreading a phone call, a knock on the door, an interception of life-ending proportions.
Four months, two weeks, three days in: your mistake comes back to break your skull wide open.
Okay, so it doesn’t. But a blow to the head sure feels like it, and the blood seeping into the collar of your shirt doesn’t help.
“Sorry about that,” says the woman, swimming soupy behind the opaque sheathe of your blindfold. “We didn’t expect you to put up such a fight.”
“Good. How’s your boy’s windpipe?”
“Severed. Where did the spouse of a businessman learn experience with knives?”
You exhale a humorless laugh, working numbed wrists beneath their bindings. “I dabble.”
“Oh, I know.” A chair scrapes, and your head follows the motion, until gooseflesh prickles along your forearms. She sits close. Close enough that you smell her expensive perfume. “I guess I should cut the act, huh? We know you’re USSTRATCOM.”
“And I know that if you wanted to kill me, I would’ve been dead in that parking lot.”
“You’re right. That’s not why we’re here.” Someone steps up behind you, fiddles with the knot holding your blindfold in place. Then, inky darkness. Plying shadows dance across the basement. “I’m here on behalf of Carina Voerman. You know her, right?”
Your poor vision fails to adjust, instead a gentle sway that incites nausea. “I guess you could say that.”
“She has a proposition for you. Let’s say it’s a good-faith agreement between like-minded individuals.”
“Like-minded?”
“Two talented spies after a similar goal.”
“I’m not a spy.”
“And I’m the Queen of England.” Bathed in shadow, she leans in close, and you note the curve of her features. Hooded eyes, full lips, an aquiline nose. Little to go off of, but you’ll take anything at this point. “Nightingale, we can help each other.”
She’s done her homework. Unsurprising, given Carina’s efficiency. Her intelligence.
But you still don’t trust her. Any of these people.
“So what’s in it for me?”
“You want Nolan Reed, yes? Carina can get you to someone even higher on the totem pole. All you need is to dig up some dirt on Carl, be a little birdie in the government’s ear—”
“The U.S. doesn’t have that kind of jurisdiction over here.”
“Not yet. But Umbrella’s claws dig deep, do they not? He gets extradited to the U.S., that’s one more player out of the game.”
“He’s a small fish in one very big pond.”
The woman grins, laughs under her breath. “A win is a win is a win. Think of the long-term.”
“Carl Voerman isn’t our target.”
“But a bioterrorist is still a bioterrorist, right?”
You’re worn down. Exhausted. Sore as all hell. Really miss your bed.
Fuck your pride, you miss Leon.
“Okay, fine. I’ll talk to my contacts, see if I can’t get something worked out. Widen our field of view.”
“That’s all we ask. You do that, Carina will pay you back tenfold.”
The car dumps you a few blocks from home. Shoeless and battered, you hope Leon still holds his anger close. Can’t imagine his reaction otherwise.
Unfortunately, you experience a string of misfortune. He’s on you as soon as you unlock the front door then step inside. Asks where the fuck you’ve been, drags you over to the kitchen table to play doctor.
Worry. Worry tenses up his shoulders, furrows his brow, leaves him tender and malleable.
“I should probably apologize,” he says, discarding another square of bloodied gauze.
“I mean, I kinda deserved it.”
He treads carefully around your blunt-force wound, crusted with dried blood. The wet cloth burns regardless, despite his cautious touch. “Maybe. Some of it.”
“You are a very shitty apologizer.”
“Cut me some slack. I’m not exactly used to this.”
“Oh, I can tell.”
He smiles at you and the world rights itself. Your headache ceases. You forget about the last few days so easily it almost makes you sick.
“What’s that saying? You don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone?”
You don’t expect him to kiss you, and if anyone asks, you absolutely do not pull him closer. Definitely don’t curl a fist in his hair. Definitely don’t sigh in relief.
No. God, no. You’re playing pretend. Faking a relationship built upon foundational love.
This means nothing.
It means nothing.
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swedenis-h · 2 months
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If there was no me.. (X)
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skylersprompts · 6 months
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DC x DP Prompt *7*
Robin was staring at the screen of the Bat-Computer, while his mind was trapped in the past.
Damian could still clearly remember growing up in the League. And he remembers that he never questioned Grandfather or Mother, except once.
He had been seven, almost eight, when he was training his stealth. And what would be better practice then to follow his mother around till she spots him.
But this day his mother seemed distracted, something that never happened. He followed her to Grandfathers study and listened.
"The boy is nothing but a hindrance to Damian. He fails to kill and has sympathy that's unbecoming for an al Ghul. If Danyal won't complete his next mission, you will dispose of him", Grandfather sounded annoyed, as if he didn't just spoke about killing his twin, about how their mother would have to kill her own flesh and blood.
He didn't wait for his mothers response, knowing that she wouldn't oppose the demon head. As fast as he could he searched for his other half, they needed an plan.
On their next mission Danyal died. It was tragic, but he had sacrificed himself to save the heir of the al Ghuls. At least that is what Damian reported to the League.
Danyal was on the run and for the next 19 month he was forbidden to leave any clues about his whereabouts for Damian.
At some point he would be able to find him again.
He had searched for Danyal, ever since he stared to life with father. But the little voice in the back of his head kept whispering about how Danyal probably died because of his injuries years ago and that father would see it as his fault that he lost another son.
But know he found one of his clues. An online post from someone with the username 'ghostboi', about a constellation and the story that he himself spun around it. A story only the two of them knew. Well... and a few hundred strangers now, but he would have to talk later with Danyal about that.
Now it was time to tell father about yet another son that mother kept secret from him, oh joy.
.
.
.
The talk had been going as good as anyone could expect, which meant that he and father now sat in a private jet, only two hours after they found out about Danyals whereabouts and three hours since Bruce Wayne knows about his second blood son.
They where going as Civilians, since it would probably go smoother. And because the Brucie Wayne persona seemed to gift his father the ability to talk a little bit easier about emotions. Except for right now, because he was angry at Damian for keeping his twin a secret. Still, Damian couldn't see how he could have handled this better and also stayed silent.
Quietly he goes over the things he found out about his brother.
He now goes by the name Daniel James Fenton
He lives in Amity Park, Illinois
He was adopted at the age of nine by the Fentons
He goes to the local high school
He has an older sister, Jasmine Fenton, who is in college for psychology
His parents are ecto-scientist
He has two friend with the names of Tucker Foley and Samantha Manson
It wasn't a lot, but he didn't have much time and also not the patience to wait any longer. It had been almost nine years since he last seen his other half and even if he was nervous, he just couldn't bear to wait any longer.
After they landed in an airport in the city nearest to Amity Park, the two immediately got into the back of a car and their journey continues.
For a long time it was silent in the car, till Damian couldn't bear his father's brooding anymore.
"I didn't know if he had survived and I deemed it better for everyone involved if I'm the only one with this particular uncertainty and possible grief", even if his own voice was levelled and his father just responded with a grunt, the air in the car seemed now easier to breathe.
~
Yes, Bruce had been livid and heartbroken when Damian had told him about his youngest, but he could understand to some degree where the boy was coming from. And if the situation wouldn't be so heartbreaking, then he could be able to call it sweet of his son. He just didn't want him to hurt, but even so... now it was to late to think about the what if's, in a few minutes he would have Daniel in his sight.
They stopped in front of a house that was a clear violation of every OSHA law he could think of. But the big "FENTON WORK' sign, told him that they were right.
Bruce put on a light smile, before he knocked on the door, Damian on his left side. From inside he heard a little bit of shuffling and a carbon copy of Damian opened the door. Everything except for the eyes were the same.
But before Bruce could say anything, the twins were already in each other's arms. He could hear quiet sniffling.
"You found me, your safe", the words came like a mantra out of Daniels mouth.
"Ahbak, Danyal", was the whispered answer from Damian.
And Bruce felt like an intruder in this moment. He had never seen his son so openly affectionate and it was like a weight had lifted of Damians shoulders.
It took a few minutes till the two brothers let go of each other. Except for their hands, that stayed clasps with each other.
"Hello Daniel, I'm Bruce Wayne. I'm yours and Damians father", he introduced himself with a smile, even though the boy seemed to shrink a little bit into himself.
"Please call me Danny Mr. Wayne. Just Fruitloops call me Daniel", his son gave him a crooked smile and Bruce nodded.
"Of course, but call me Bruce", he answered easygoing.
"Is there a place where we can talk Danyal?", Damian got the attention of his twin with a little tuck on his hand.
"You can come inside. Mom and Dad are out of town to get a few supplies for a new project", his answer was sheepish, as he lead them inside.
It seemed like he had adjusted well to a civilian life. How he wished he could have seen his growth.
They sit down in the living room and start to talk a bit about Danny's life with the Fentons. It's apparent for both him and Damian, that Danny is hiding something from them, but they don't press. Maybe he'll tells Damian, when they have a moment alone.
"Should I help you to pack your possessions now? I'm sure the Fentons won't need to long to come back, so that you can say goodbye", as Damian was speaking, he stood up and looked at a bewildered Danny. But Bruce wasn't really better. As much as he would love to bring Danny home with them, they couldn't just rip him out of his life. And Danny seems to see it just like him.
"Dami... I'm not leaving. I love my parents and my friends, I can't just go and leave them", Danny also stood up and clasped his hands on Damians shoulders.
"Tt... so you choose them over me?", his voice was barely over a whisper.
"No! I-... it's just... give me time? I'm almost done with high school and I want to go Gotham U, so... just wait a bit? Please?", his tone was pleading, as he searched his brothers eyes, whom just answered with a defeated sight.
"Danny is right Damian. We can't just uproot him like that. As much as I want us all together, we found him now, the rest can wait", Damian deflated a little more at his words. And so Bruce couldn't just let the opportunity pass to comfort his children for once.
He closed the small distance between them and hugged both of the boys lightly to himself.
"You know that I always wanted to raise you myself and now that I see you both like that, I wish for it even more", he sighted with a woeful smile, while Damian grumbled about the proximity. But Danny's little smile shifted to a horrified look.
"Your wish is my command~", the feminine voice came out of thin air, but Bruce had no time to think about it. Because just a second later, there were two little Babies in his arms. Two little, screaming Babies.
Bruce never regretted it so much in his life, that he hadn't brought Alfred along.
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sharksliveontrains · 1 year
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aftg is wild because kevin says "give your game to me." and "close your eyes and tell me what you see" and neil just says "you." and andrew has to watch the whole thing. and then andrew is the one he falls for.
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lord-squiggletits · 23 days
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I think the key component to my personal reading of post-Delphi Pharma is that he's trying to be a horrible person on purpose. Not "on purpose" in the way that people have free will to exercise their own choices, but in that Pharma's "mad doctor" persona is a performance he puts on to deliberately embrace how much everyone else hates him. Basically, if people already think you're a "bad Autobot" and a horrible doctor who just kills his patients for fun, why try to prove otherwise to people who have already made up their minds about you? Just fully embrace the fact that people see you as an asshole. Don't try to change their minds. Don't plead for their forgiveness or understanding. Just stop caring. If you're going to be remembered as a monster, you might as well be a memorable monster, and eke as much pleasure and hedonism as you can out of it before karma catches up to you and you inevitably crash and burn.
I mean, I guess you could just go the route of "Oh, Pharma was always a fucked up creepy guy and Delphi was just him taking the mask off," but I really don't like that interpretation because, for one, it feels really wrong to take a character like Pharma becoming evil under duress and going, "Oh well clearly he did the things he did because he was evil all along," as if somehow Pharma breaking under blackmail/torture/threat of horrible death was a sign of him having poor moral character. As opposed to, you know, suffering under the very real threat of horrible death for himself and everyone he cares about while being manipulated by a guy who specializes in psychological torture.
The second reason is that it just doesn't make sense to write Pharma as having been evil all along. I mean...
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Occam's Razor says that the best argument is the one with the simplest explanation. Doesn't it make way more sense to take Pharma's appearances in flashbacks, his friendship with Ratchet, his stunning medical accomplishments, and the few we see of him speaking kindly/sympathetically (or in the least charitable interpretation, at least professionally) towards his patients and conclude "This guy was just a normal person, if exceptionally talented." Taking all of these flashback appearances at face value and assuming Pharma was being genuine/honest is a way simpler and more logical explanation than trying to argue that Pharma for the past 4 million years was just faking being a good doctor/person. I mean, it's possible within the realm of headcanon, but the fact is Pharma's appearances in the story are so brief that there simply wasn't room in the story for there to be some sort of secret conspiracy/hidden manipulation behind why Pharma acted the way he did in the past.
I just can't help but look at things like Pharma's friendship with Ratchet (himself a good person and usually a fine judge of character) and the fact that even post-Delphi, pretty much every single mention of Pharma comes with some mention of "He was a good doctor for most of his life" or "He was making major headways in research [before he started killing patients]" which implies that even the Autobots themselves see Pharma's villainy as a recent turn in his life compared to how for "most of his life" he "used to be" a good doctor.
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And although Pharma doesn't know this, we as the readers (and even other characters like Rung) know about Aequitas technology and the fact that it actually works, so... if Pharma really was an unrepentant murderer, why couldn't he get through the forcefield too? The Aequitas forcefield doesn't require that a person be completely morally pure and free of wrongdoing or else how could Tyrest get through, just that they feel a sense of inner peace and lack feelings of guilt. Pharma has murdered and tortured people by this point, and put on quite a campy and theatrical show of how much he sees it as a fun game, so why then can he not get through?
It circles back to my headcanon at the start of this post that the "mad doctor" persona is just that-- a persona. Delphi/post-Delphi Pharma's laughing madman personality is just so far removed from every flashback we saw of him and everything we can infer based on how other people see/saw him before that, to me, the mad doctor act is (at least in large part, if not fully) a persona that Pharma puts on to put his villainy in the forefront.
To avoid an overly simplistic/ableist take, I don't think Tarn tortured Pharma into turning crazy. To me, it's more like the constant pressure of death by horrific torture, the feeling of martyrdom as Pharma kept secret that he was the only one standing between Delphi and annihilation, the physical isolation of Messatine as well as the emotional separation from Ratchet, being forced to violate his medical oaths (pretty much the only thing Pharma's entire life has been about), etc. All of that combined traumatized Pharma to the point that the only way he could avoid cracking was to just stop caring about all of it. Because at least then, even if he's still murdering patients to save Delphi from a group of sadistic freaks, Pharma doesn't have to feel guilty and sick about doing it. As opposed to the alternatives, which were probably either going off the deep end and killing himself to escape, or confessing to what he did and getting jailed for it.
In that light, Pharma becoming a mad doctor makes sense. It avoids the bad writing tropes of "oh this character who was good his entire life was actually just evil and really good at hiding it" as well as "oh he got tortured and went crazy that's why he's so random and silly and killing people, he's crazy" and instead frames Pharma's evil as something he was forced into, to the point where in order to avoid a full psychological breakdown and keep defending Delphi, he just had to stop caring about the sanctity of life or about what other people might think of him.
Then, of course, the actual Delphi episode happens, and Pharma's own lifelong best friend Ratchet basically spits in his face and sees him as nothing more than a crazy murderer who went rogue from being a good Autobot. Then Pharma gets his hands cut off and left to die on Messatine. At that point, Pharma has not only been mentally/emotionally broken into losing his feelings of compassion, he's received the message loud and clear: He is alone. Everyone hates him. Not even his own best friend likes him any more. No one even cared enough about him to check if he actually died or not. He will only ever be remembered as a doctor who went insane and killed his patients.
So in the light of 1. Having all of your redeeming qualities be squeezed out of you one by one for the sake of survival and 2. Having your reputation and all of your positive relationships be destroyed and 3. People only know/care about you as "that doctor who became evil and killed his patients" rather than the millions of years of good service that came before.
What else is there to do but internalize the fact that you'll forever be seen as a monster and a freak, and embrace it? People already see you as a murderer for that blackmail deal you did, so why not become an actual murderer and just start killing people on a whim? People already see you as an irredeemable monster who puts a stain on the Autobot name, so why beg for their forgiveness when you could just shun them back? You've already become a murderer, a traitor, and a horrible doctor, so what's a few more evil acts added to the pile? It's not like anyone will ever forgive you or love you ever again.
Why care? Why try to hold on to your principles of compassion, kindness, medical ethics, when an entire lifetime of being a good person did nothing to save you from blackmail and then abandonment? Why put yourself through the emotional agony of feeling lonely, guilty, miserable, when you could just... stop caring, and not hurt any more?
#squiggposting#pharma apologism#i'm sure the doylist reason for the writing is just that pharma was a designated villain#so since he's a villain and 'crazy' it's fine for everyone even the good guys to treat him like complete trash#i just think from a watsonian perspective taking a sympathetic approach is way more interesting and logically consistent#what i mean is like. from a meta perspective one of the best ways to show that a character is super evil and not worth saving#is when even the good guy heroes. the ones who are supposed to be kind and compassionate and wise. see him as dirt#and this is also kind of a necessity in most plots bc TF is the kind of series that just needs action villains and long-term antagonists#so not every villain is written or has a plot to be made redeemable. and pharma is one of these bc he's not important or a legacy character#so from a doylist (meta) perspective you could read the autobots' disregard of pharma as a sign of#'this guy is not meant to have your sympathy as a reader. pay no attention to him'#but from a watsonian (in universe) perspective it paints a miserable picture of pharma being utterly forsaken by the ppl he served alongsid#and like yeah i'm super autistic about pharma so of course i view him with sympathy but like#the idea of being a loyal and good person for years only to be subjected to a Torment Nexus of#being blackmailed into breaking all of the oaths you held sacred. under threat of you and all your comrades dying horrible torturous deaths#then when your comrades find out about it they focus solely on the 'harvesting organs' and not on the 'blackmail' part#and then you get literally left for dead by your comrades and best friend hating your guts#and then you get rescued by a guy who uses you as a test subject for his evil machine#this is a fucking nightmare scenario like pharma could hardly be suffering more if the author TRIED to make him suffer#and for me it's like. the evil pharma did can't be decontextualized to what drove him to that. as well as the question of like#how easily ppl can write someone off as evil and turn a blind eye to (or even find satisfaction in) their suffering bc theyre evil#and either brought it on themselves or it's just karma paying a visit#like. i feel like if pharma WERE a shitty doctor and a terrible person his whole life then the delphi situation would feel like karma#but the way it's written and the lore retroactively put in makes it feel more pharma getting thrown in a torture carousel#and THEN becoming evil. but then being treated as if he was always evil or was some sort of bad apple#bc like i'm not opposed to LOLing when a villain gets a karmic torture/death related to the wrongs they committed#but in pharma's case it feels less like karma and more like endless torture + being abandoned by ppl who should have been more loyal
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gingersnapped · 1 year
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those neighbors sure are nosy...
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oliveroctavius · 6 months
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juniperhillpatient · 1 month
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hate it when there’s already enough characters & they bring in a new one to take up all the attention from the already interesting characters. like ok. no one asked
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katelynsimpsince2016 · 4 months
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after sleeping on the latest anniversary special i think i’m at peace with the whole bi-generation thing because it does something i don’t think it would’ve been able to do if it was executed in any other way. it allows the show to move the fuck on.
nuwho began with this mysterious sense that something bad happened. that this man, this alien, is filled with guilt and pain from something terrible. that theme of a horrible anguish being thinly veiled under a witty, dorky shield has been consistent throughout every incarnation of the doctor since. it’s a brilliant piece of characterisation but the doctor always being weighed down by this insurmountable grief i think was always going to hold the show back eventually. tragedy is inherent to doctor who but when does it become hard to believe that the main character is somehow able to continue on after everything they’ve gone through. what effect would this have on the audience, especially long-term fans? letting go of past companions and doctors is something that doctor who fans are notoriously bad at and i just wonder if it would become too much for the show to handle at one point. but now it won’t anymore.
bi-generation allows the doctor to heal from everything they’ve gone through whilst still being able to barrel into the next adventure. there’s a million theories on where 14 will end up but i think what matters the most is that the doctor is finally happy. not in a temporary, tenuous state of thrill that will only last until the start of the next episode or when the next threat appears around the corner but truly happy. unlike in previous versions of this story where the doctor gets an impossible happy ending which we never get to see onscreen (e.g. tentoo settling down with rose) we are actually going to witness 15 be joyful and alive, no longer held down by what’s come before. a fresh start almost. not to say that the time war or the flux were so horrific that the doctor never could’ve gotten over them but i don’t think the doctor healing would’ve been believable without him literally splitting in two, allowing him time to breathe and slow down as 14 whilst untethering him from the past and allowing him to fully spread his wings as 15. it’s not a perfect conclusion to this era (and discussions on whether bi-generation undermined ncuti’s entrance and role as THE doctor are completely valid) but i’m ultimately glad it happened
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themistas · 2 months
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sam is soooooooo. he's the it-girl he's the star of the show he's EVERYTHING. the boy with the demonic powers the demon blood addict the guy who's lost his soul the crazy dude hallucinating lucifer. he's IT he's EVERYTHING he could be the character with the least screentime and he'd still have SO MUCH to offer
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natelia-aldelliz · 1 year
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1 : Soap never had any idea that woman wanted him carnally, he's not the most observant on that front (he never noticed Ghost flirting with him and thought his love was one-sided for the longest time, but tbf Ghost was also very discreet about it)
2 : He sewed the hat, eyepatch and hook himself, because he's the best uncle and then got distracted as he was wrapping it up, so now he's watching a tutorial on youtube about how to build a voice box. Honestly how hard could it be, he builds explosive devices as a hobby (listen, Price doesn't have to know)
3 : He is out to his family, but doesn't want his mum to know he has a boyfriend because he knows she'll insist on meeting him and welcoming him to the family and making a big deal out of this, and he knows that Ghost isn't ready for that.
4 : Christmas is obviously a very hard time for Ghost, but he is very very in love with Soap and some days still can't believe that it's mutual, but then his Johnny does something like that and his head gets quieter while he's melting a bit.
5 : For the people that didn't see my other post : the bird is a Caique parrot, and they're supposedly very energetic, a bit loud, medium sized, unintelligible, very friendly to what they consider their family, adventurous and danger prone, with an explosive personality and a hate of boredom, so basically the adhd bird.
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