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fucktheroyals · 3 years

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You know after reading and reading and reading peoples theories and the meta from before the spn finale aired and the meta writers reactions to the finale I think I have a theory of my own. We don't have any answers tho, so this is pure speculation. If you wanna add something to support or discredit any of this that's cool but there's too many things floating around. Know I dont have proof for this conclusion at all. A lot of what I say is just guesses based on previous facts.

This all came together in my head when I realized how much this finale REEKS of the original producers and who the show was originally for. It REEKS of Robert Singer. Like if the execs started saying they didn't want it, Robert Singer was the one pushing that the story was about the brothers. That kinda thing.

Then, I was thinking of the problems in this episode and it struck me these are all of Supernatural biggest issues and to be honest all of it feels completely deliberate.

Take the sexism for example, Supernatural in it's later seasons largely out grew this, we have Jody, Rowena, Donna, Charlie, Mary, Claire (and even a wayward sisters pilot with MORE women/girls) all making regular appearances. They're mainly good characters and mostly aren't there to hurt our boys. Rowena, of course, is the one outlier being very about herself but it's clear she still cares for them, I mean its part of her development. But they're all real, with character flaws just like everyone else. (And we have Death too and she was POC 😭 THANK GOD)

Now look at the earlier half of Spn, we have Ellen and Jo, who's appearances were far in between. There's Bela in season 3, recurring for quite a bit (5 eps), but she is a character that is only there for herself, definitely not found family (unlike Ellen & Jo), and she's got more episodes in season 3 than Ellen and Jo in season 2 who aren't seen again til season 5. The "fans" send in hate mail after hate mail to try to get these characters off, and eventually they are. Then there's Ruby who's character stayed for a whole two seasons and was a largely recurring character. Why does she get to say so long? She's a plot device. She's supposed to be there to betray Sam. She has to stay (plus Jared obviously likes her). But she's not just a character the writers like writing about. Same with Lilith. Obviously not as recurring but still a plot device. Did they get hate mail tho? You can bet on it. Why? because tHeY'rE gOnNa PuSh ThE bOyS (Dean and Sam) aPaRt ThE sHoW iS aBoUt ThE bOyS oNlY. Without even thinking about the hate mail, just notice how large the difference is from how women are seen in the earlier seasons to the later seasons. Misha got tons of hate mail too for being a character that could split up the boys (probably only being allowed to say because he a man, thanks sexist producers and execs).

Only after Castiel was killed off and then Castiel fans successfully (thank you guys) got him back on the show did the hate mail largely simmer, which means female character's were allowed to stay! Which has lead us to a show with a good amount of female characters. But can you imagine having to kill characters off time and time again because people keep complaining that the show is "only about the boys." Fun times really.

So now we get to this final and we see sexism. But it wasn't just the plain old regular sexism you find in the earlier days of spn. Because now, there ARE women to talk about, talk to. But this episode was DESOLATE women wise, unless they were used for plot (which is also sexist!). Small scenes, they're barely there. Women gets her tongue cut out. Random women from s1 gets killed. Sam doesn't SPEAK of Eileen. Nothing. No mention of any female characters from the boys mouths unless they were from/in this episode itself. That's WIERD. I know we've all said it. But that goes beyond forgetting about characters. I mean its SAM'S GIRLFRIEND for Christ's sake. There is NO REASON they couldn't have said Eileen's name. Notice how Sam's wife is just... faceless. This is literally an age old sexist trope. Like... one of the things about bringing Mary back to life for s12+ is that it takes this trope... of basically a generic mother, and gives her life and feelings, whether you like them or not, they're real feelings. They said Mary isn't just a mom she's a person. Mary's existence in the later half of spn is to fix this kind of female tropes that fall upon her character, to not let these her stay a 2 dimensional character. They said we should know she's more than just the mom who tried to save her kid. Do that is the exact opposite of Sam getting a nameless, faceless wife. The sexism of the old spn wasn't just brought back, it was completely amplified. It wasn't just accidental or some exec "fixing" the story it was DELIBRATE. Whoever wrote that, didn't do ALL OF THAT by accident. Because an exec or a producer who doesn't see the flaws in old supernatural isn't going to write it that deliberately.

Let's bring it back to s10 when Charlie was killed (singer was mainly to blame). Dead in the bathtub, age old classic of burying ur gays. If you were here you know people never let Supernatural live that down. THEY KNOW what bury ur gays means. Hell, Robbie Thompson left because of Charlie's death and you think the writers don't know what it means? I mean both Bobo Berens (especially) and Steve Yockey's careers are centered around LGBT+ storytelling and you think they don't know? They know. They know.

And Dean wasn't just apart of the bury your gays trope, it is so far BEYOND that. Dean being killed on a rusty nail/screw, the tongues ripped out, things that seemed to be meant for other people. Jensen's acting in the last two episodes was giving us "DEAN RECIPROCATES" but no one ever actually saying it. I think it's clear that Dean was killed for being Bi. They didn't address it for a reason, they just silenced him. His narrative was supposed to be about letting him be HIM for the first time, to say what his feelings are instead of having them miscommunicated, and instead of doing that, they just silenced him. And the more we look at this scene the more horrific it gets. The more it's a complete slap in the face and it's supposed to be. Some guy who knows nothing about the LGBT can't write a scene this horrific.

Some guy who knows nothing about Dean couldn't write a scene that deconstructs all of Dean's character development and gives Dean his worst nightmare. I MEAN DEAN WANTED TO LIVE HIS LIFE! THEY DIDNT HIDE THAT JOB APPLICATION (or whatever job related thing that was) IN THERE FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES THEY WANT YOU TO KNOW THIS IS THE ABSOLUTE WORST SITUATION. Dean isn't Barney from HIMYM. If you watched HIMYM then you'll know Barney went from being a stereotypical ladies man and treating women terribly to being in love with a women and treating her right and working hard for it. The last episode of HIMYM (why its so bad) Barney's character development is thrown out and he's back to being a stereotypical ladies man. You don't need to know Barney's character very much to do that.

To kill Dean during a hunt his father never finished, to not have anyone at his funeral, to have Dean die young like his life didn't matter. Those are Dean's worst fears and you'd only truly know that if you watched the gin episode in s3, where they are basically laid out for you. You HAVE to know Dean's character to tear him apart like this.

This episode took all the core elements of the show and did a complete 180° the name of the episode itself is "Carry on" and Dean and Sam very much did not carry on. Sam grieving his entire life so that he good get to heaven and see Dean again. Dean being ready to live his life, despite the enormous pitfalls and learning to love himself only to be killed. "Family don't end with blood." Um.... it did in that episode either literally with Dean's death or you know BECAUSE NONE OF THEIR FOUND FAMILY WAS THERE. Not Jack, Not Cas, Not Eileen, Not Donna, Not Charlie, Not Jody, Not Claire... on and on we go. No one was there, nobody was even mentioned. Dean's funeral, no one even called that we know of. It was just Sam and Dean. Sam and Dean. And Bobby. Don't forget Bobby. But yeah Sam and Dean.

That's what the show is about right, the brothers.

Except it's not anymore. It hasn't been for years.

Cas not being there was deafening but it brought us to a major point. Becky. Becky's telling us about the terrible ending.

And many of us are wondering why would they literally tell us this is the worst ending and then... make it the ending.

Now before we move on, it very apparent many of you think Dabb doesn't ship Deancas. And Dabb doesn't care about the characters.

Say what you will about any plot holes in his writing, the point he is VERY GOOD at writing the characters, and giving us good ones.

Why do we know Dabb ships Deancas? (ill say when its cowrote, other wise its not) cowrote ep 8.02 - purgatory "I prayed to you, Cas, every night" "Cas, Buddy, I need you." "I have a price on my head, and I've been trying to stay one step ahead of them, to – to keep them away from you." 8.08 Hunteri Heroici - Cas helps them hunt! 😊❤ Dean & Cas have a serious convo about why Cas doesn't want to see/go to heaven. 8.22 Dean's mad at Cas. Sam's explanation of why Dean should be easy on Cas: "It's Cas." Dean then points out how he'd knife anybody else if they did what Cas did. 9.10 - Cas comforts Dean when Dean can't take seeing Sam (Gadreel) being tortured anymore. Also tons of Cas. 9.20 (bloodlines) - Canonical couple parallel "I was there, where were you" 9.22 The angels make Cas choose between them and killing Dean and he "gave up an entire army for one guy" 10.09 Claire's reintroduction. Cas heavy ep. DeanCas date. 10.22 THE PRISONER - u know the ep where Dean beats the shit out of Cas but loves him enough to not kill him.

We COULD keep going but I think I've made my point. If Robert Singer is the guy that is like "the show is about Sam and Dean only" Andrew Dabb is the DeanCas shipper. And you could even say a Cas stan.

Notice! How in s13 for SEVEN episodes we have a story that revolves around Dean's grief about losing Cas. Notice! How often the stories in all these seasons have a focus on their relationship. THAT is Andrew Dabb. If it weren't for him doing that, we wouldn't be able to easily say after Dean's lack of a response to Cas' confession, that Dean reciprocates.

To me, when I was (binge) watching s12 for the first time, I thought damn this is really got a lot of DeanCas. So I went to look at who was in charge, who was writing. I saw Andrew Dabb, associated him with Deancas episodes, saw all the new writers, Bobo, and then I saw that Yockey is known for same sex stories and it clicked. Dabb assembled a team to give us Destiel. THAT WAS IN SEASON 12!!!!!!!!

The amount of people saying he's homophobic flabbergast me. Open your eyes! That isn't what's going on.

Imagine making a show and trying to right all the wrongs of Supernatural. Imagine trying to write the greatest love story ever told and you have the entire season planned out for it to end off beautifully, it may possibly be your greatest achievement when it's done and then boom. someone comes in and tells you you aren't allowed to make Dean bi or make destiel endgame, after he was most probably already given the go ahead.

Sure. You could imply he's bi or into cas still in a way. Still make nice-ish ending. just give everyone what the kinda want.

Or you could scrap the last season, nothing close to a canonical bisexual Dean Winchester or Deancas endgame in site. People can be done with it be happy with the show, continue to live their lives in ignorance as to how close they were to Canon destiel.

OR you can lead everyone to the very closest you can get them to what you were aiming for and then show everyone the ugly truth and reality. Light it all on fire. Burn the show to the ground in your wake. Try your darnedest to making these people's (the people saying no) pockets suffer. Show us, the audience, what happened. Show us what this show really is.

I've seen people talk about the ending being changed during covid but I dont think that happened. I think what happened was Dabb already had this season planned out before it even started. Obviously the details were wobbly but it was all lead up to this ending. Destiel endgame, Canon Bisexual Dean, whatever it was. They were ready to write the greatest love story ever told and then someone shut it down.

Imagine the pain that must have caused them to be told no when they already said yes. They must have been so excited to give this to us.

I think someone (some producers) told him what this show is "really" about. The brothers. Can you imagine, after being told no, some kinda bullshit like this is said to you: "Why aren't you bringing it back to the brothers, Andrew? that's what the shows about. What with all this homosexual stuff, you know the audience won't like that. Not really." Imagine the original producers pushing this kind of view on you. "You know when we started it was Sam and Dean. It should end with Sam and Dean." That kinda sounds like someone huh? huh.

So why give us a nice acceptable finale, when you can take every problem Supernatural's had either up front or behind the scenes and create a finale so incredibly bad that people don't want to watch it anymore.

Someone made a good point about how Sam was originally supposed to be the main focus (this isn't to put any hate on Sam or Jared). Dean and Sam are the main characters but Sam was supposed to be the focus and for Dean to have become the focus, must have annoyed the producers because... well here we are. They wouldn't listen to Jensen. The producers liked this ending. Jensen's opinion didn't matter to them.

In some ways, if this is really what happened, it can be seen as childish from Dabb. To hurt all of us like that. Yes, he's hurting the producers, the execs, the cw. But to hurt us? Yeah it stings.

But in other ways, if this is really what happened, this is Dabb showing us the muck and gunk under the shiny surface. The hate for Misha. The hidden hate for Jensen. The underlying sexism. The underlying homophobia. The people REALLY in charge don't care about us, they just want our money. He needed to open our eyes and free us, at least free the people that he was writing for. The people he sees that care about this show.

This is the ending the powers that be wanted and its a big fuck you for a reason. I dont think this is Dabb spitting in our faces for loving this show, I think this is him trying to get revenge for us.

But from here, you can see it how u want it. If this is really what happened, I'm not in charge of your emotions, if you wanna be mad be mad if you wanna be grateful be grateful. And you don't have to believe me either I said this is speculation.

Also, as for all of the rumors like there being shots to the confession scene that we didn't see, which Jensen himself implied, I think that might have been a last ditch effort to canonized DeanCas but obviously it was cut. Like the name change was pretty clear. As for Misha possibly having shot some stuff for 20 I dont know what to tell you. If it's true I dont know where the blame would lie.

I do think however, that if all this was the case, the writers were prepared to become villians here. I mean they told us the writers were villians with Chuck right? So. Who knows what went down so they could give us such a vile ending. It could've been the producers or the writers, who truly knows. I do think tho that people we "trust" did some pretty shitty things to push the narrative in certain directions so now one would see this as the actual ending that was coming.

So again do with my SPECULATION what you will. This was in no way meant to put Dabb on a pedestal or anything. Just meant to give a bit of perspective.

(Also Jensen didn't unfollow Dabb recently he was already unfollowed for years)

#15x20 wank #spn finale wank #spn finale meta #15x20 meta #Andrew Dabb #spn #supernatural #castiel #dean winchester #destiel #deancas #misha collins #jensen ackles #long post #sorry im on mobile #this is the longest post i have ever writen

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ibis-gt · 3 years

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i made a fairytale au for cam and luther and then wrote nearly 5k words of fic for it?? which is wild bc i am not much of a writer. but. that’s under the cut. content warning for a pretty violent scene towards the end but there’s a happy ending i prommy

Once upon a time, there lived a prince. This prince, Luther by name, lived in a kingdom that was plagued by monsters. His father, the king, had gained his throne by feats of heroism, most notably by slaying a fearsome dragon that had ruled the land for years. The time came for Luther to prove he was worthy of the title of prince by slaying a monster of his own…

Down in the countryside, farmers have been complaining for weeks of an ogre stealing their cattle and frightening their children. So Luther sets off in a splendid suit of armor, with a sword sheathed on one hip, a quiver of arrows on the other, and his bow slung on his back.

Luther rides his horse down to the village where the ogre was last spotted. He talks with the locals and gets a description of the creature. At least forty feet tall, they say, with greenish-grey skin and dark hair and teeth the length of a man’s forearm. Luther leaves his horse behind with the farmers because he doesn’t want her getting hurt and marches off, following a set of giant footprints left behind by the ogre, sword in hand. He would have to admit that he isn’t the best at sword fighting, and that really he’s never faced a monster on his own. But his father gave him a crucial tip: every monster has a weak point. Find the weak point, exploit it, and you’ll win every time.

The footprints lead through the plains of grass, past the area where the farmers let their cattle out to graze, and into a dark forest. The sun is going down before he manages to find the ogre, so he sets up a little camp with a little fire and rests his tired bones. His armor isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but it takes forever to get on and off even with someone helping him, let alone by himself. He sits with his back to a big boulder so nothing can sneak up behind him and eventually drifts off.

Luther awakens the next morning and groans at how stiff and sore he is. He sits up and pauses, brow furrowed, remembering that he’d gone to bed sitting upright. But just now, he’d been lying on his back. And he’s not the best tracker, but those giant footprints look… disconcertingly fresh. These things add up in his mind. He just about passes out. He crouches down and puts his head between his knees for a moment until he can breathe again and his heart stops pounding quite so hard. He was right next to it! He fell asleep leaning on it! If his father heard about this he’d give him such a beating. How could he not have noticed that the boulder was actually -

His stomach rumbles, interrupting his panicked thoughts, and Luther remembers that the last time he ate was back in that farming village around two in the afternoon yesterday. He digs out a bit of beef jerky and morosely works at it. His father swears by the stuff, but it just makes his teeth hurt. Luther dreams of the kitchens back home and drools a little.

He gives up on the jerky and manages to take down a couple squirrels with his bow and arrows. He gets his fire blazing again and sets them cooking over it, and sits down to draw in the dirt and form a battle plan. He gets wrapped up in his drawing and loses track of time, but is startled violently back to reality as a deep booming voice from behind him says, “Your squirrel’s burning.”

Luther’s eyes snap up to the fire. He hastily pulls the stick with his squirrels off of it, waving it in the air to put out the bit of squirrel that had caught fire. He blows on it and inspects the damage. Not too bad, a little charred. Still definitely edible. Then realization dawns, and he slowly looks up and over his shoulder.

That’s the ogre. He’s unmistakable. Huge, greyish-green, with shaggy black hair and big tusks that jut out of his mouth. He’s down on one knee looming over Luther, modesty barely preserved by a loincloth stitched together out of the pelts of many different furry animals. Luther wills himself to not faint for the second time that day.

“You gonna eat that?” The ogre booms. “’Cause I will if you won’t.”

“W-well, yes, I was planning to,” Luther quavers, “But there are two, so, um, you can have one if you want? We can share?”

He takes the non-burned squirrel off the stick and holds it up. His hand only shakes a little. The ogre takes it carefully between thumb and forefinger and tosses it in his mouth. With such a tiny morsel, he’d usually just swallow it whole, but an interesting flavor makes him stop and savor it for a moment.

“What’d you do to it? Not like any squirrel I’ve eaten. And I’ve eaten a whole army of squirrels.” He slaps a hand on his formidable belly. The sound makes Luther jump.

“I- I didn’t do much, j-just some seasoning, I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean to, please don’t eat me next."

"You?” The ogre laughs. “Why would I eat you? You shared your food with me. That’s mighty polite. I’d say that makes us friends now, and I don’t eat friends.” He grunts as he shifts position, sitting down heavily and stretching out his legs. “Bad knees,” he grumbles. “Sat like that too long, but I wanted to see what you were drawing."

Luther is now horrifically aware that he is directly between the ogre’s legs. He is also horrifically aware that he was drawing himself hitting an ogre with a sword. He hurriedly kicks some dirt over it.

"Nothing. Nothing interesting. I’m a bad artist anyway.”

“Sure. What’s your name, little tin man? You didn’t seem too talkative when you snuggled up to me last night, but I thought maybe you were just tired. I’m Cam."

"L-Luther.” Oh god. He was supposed to kill this thing, it - well, no, not ‘it’, he can’t think of Cam as an ‘it’ now he knows his name - he’s terrorizing folks, stealing their livelihoods, he’s supposed to drive him away, save the day, bring peace to the kingdom. Instead he’s sharing his meager breakfast and making friends with the monster. How did it all go so wrong!!

“So, Luther, you made of metal? I thought you were gonna take all that off, looks pretty uncomfortable, but you wore it all night. Unless it’s like… you?"

"No, no, um, it’s just… it takes a long time to put it on and take it off? And I usually need help.”

"Well shoot, friend, why didn’t you say so?“ Before Luther can object, a giant hand descends and plucks him up. He panics, struggles in Cam’s grasp, and Cam tsks at him. "I can’t get all that off you if you don’t hold still. Don’t make me squeeze."

Luther goes still. If Cam squeezes the armor, it’ll stay squeezed. He wouldn’t want to still be in it if that happens. Cam clearly has no idea how to get someone out of armor though. He just pulls at clasps and buckles till they break, then shucks the metal off of Luther like an ear of corn. His helmet comes off first, freeing his dark brown curls.

“Aww,” Cam says, “lookit you. You’re kinda cute for a tin man.” He musses up Luther’s hair with a fingertip. "You’re like a little crab,” Cam chuckles. “Crack open the hard shell to get to the soft stuff underneath.” The food metaphor does not put Luther any more at ease as the rest of his armor is pulled off and tossed aside, piece by piece. Cam even strips the chainmail off of him and dumps it on the ground. This leaves Luther in his shirt and breeches, shaking like a leaf and terrified for his life.

“Oh, you cold? Here, I gotcha.” Cam sandwiches him between his hands. Luther awaits the pressure and the horrible crunch that will no doubt be the end of his short life, but it never comes. Cam just holds him there, and truth be told his hands are very warm, and it had been a chilly morning. Luther relaxes very slightly.

After a few minutes, Cam lifts one hand a little and peeks at Luther. “Better?"

"Much better, thank you. Even a little too warm, actually? Can I, um, come out now?"

Cam laughs and opens his hands like a book, then tilts them so Luther tumbles into the palm of his left hand. "So what’s a fancy little shrimp like you doing all the way out here, with that tough shell and those sharp weapons? You huntin’ something?"

Luther hesitates. It’s not… technically a lie, just an omission of truth, right? "Yeees…. Hunting.”

Cam laughs out loud, leaning back and slapping his knee with his free hand. “HA! You are just about the worst liar I ever met, Luther. Whew.” He actually wipes a tear from his eye. Luther feels his face heating up with anger and embarrassment.

“I am hunting! I’m hunting you!” As soon as he says it he regrets it. He slaps his hands over his mouth and cowers back as Cam sits up straight again and looks down at him, raising an eyebrow.

“That so? Huh. Well, you found me, oh mighty hunter. And you fed me, and let me take your armor off you, and left all your sharp things on the ground while you sit in the palm of my hand. So, uh… how’s that goin’ for ya?”

“It… I… um… please don’t kill me?”

Cam grins. It’s not a nice grin anymore. It shows off too many teeth. “Lotsa folks have hunted me, you know. Not a one has succeeded. Most of ‘em can’t find me in the first place, not unless I want them to. Neat little trick we ogres have. We blend in well. The ones who did find me, they regretted it pretty quick. When I heard you clanking along with your silly armor and your little sword, I thought oh boy, here comes another one. But it turns out this one couldn’t find his own ass with both hands and a map, so he ain’t one of them legendary monster hunters lookin’ to claim some bounty. And he’s a little scrawny slip of a thing, too, and he keeps stopping to look at birds. I kinda liked you. And honestly, when you found me, it took me by surprise. Thought I had you pegged all wrong. Then you made your little fire, curled up next to me, and went to sleep, and it took everything I had not to bust my gut laughing right then and there. And now… well, I don’t rightly know what to make of you. Cute little thing, I know that. But cute won’t save you if you wanna tussle with me. So, little hunter… what’re you gonna do now?”

Luther’s nearly in tears. He manages to say, “Then… were you just… toying with me? This whole time? Waiting to see what I’d do?"

Cam shrugs. "Pretty much.” That does it. The waterworks are in full swing. Luther’s chin trembles, his lower lip wobbles, and then tears are streaming down his face and he’s sobbing.

“Y- you’re s-so-ho meeeaaaan,” Luther wails. “Y-you’re j-just making f-fun of me, I thought w-we were friends!”

Cam has absolutely no idea how to respond to this. For some reason he actually feels guilty. “Aw - no - now look, there’s no call for - just… just stop crying, okay? Please?” Luther continues to sob, heedless of Cam’s pleading. “There, there,” Cam tries, patting Luther’s head. “I’m not going to kill you. Okay? How’s that? I’m sorry I called you - well. All those things. I’m sure you’re a great hunter. Look, you got those squirrels. And hey! That one I ate tasted great. You got some real skill there."

Luther wipes his eyes and looks up, teetering dangerously on the edge of another sobbing fit. His eyes are all watery and a little red-rimmed. "R-really?"

"Yes! Of course!” Cam clings to the compliment like a life preserver. “I bet you’re like, like the king’s cook or something, right? Cause you’re the best in the land?"

Luther’s face crumples a little and he looks down, mutters something.

"What?” Cam holds him up a little closer to his ear.

“’m his son,” Luther mumbles again.

“His son? You’re a prince? And you’re all - oh, hell.” Now he’s really put his foot in it. Luther bursts into tears again and curls up in a little ball.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I - oh, ugh, you’re getting my hand all wet.” Cam picks him up between thumb and forefinger and shakes the little tear droplets off his palm. “Now look here,” he says, attempting a sterner approach. “You’re a prince, all right? You can’t be crying and going to pieces just ‘cause some big bad monster was mean to you. You gotta kill big bad monsters, right? So here’s what you’re gonna do.” Cam sets him down gently, picks up his sword and hands it to him. “There you go. You’re gonna take that sword, right, and you’re gonna really let me have it. That’ll make you feel better, won’t it?“

Luther purses his lips and looks up at him. "But… all I can hit from here is your foot. That’s no good. I need a shot at something vital."

"Oh fine, fine, Mr. Picky,” Cam grumbles. He shuffles his legs to the side and leans down til he’s practically laying on his belly. “Face shot. Free one for ya. Go on, hit something good.” Luther considers. Just as Cam realizes how ridiculous this whole thing is, he draws his sword back and plunges it into Cam’s eye.

- Almost plunges it into Cam’s eye. The ogre moves suddenly, turning his head to the side to avoid the blow. Luther makes a deep gash in Cam’s cheek, and Cam roars. “Oh, you sly little shit. Very good, very sneaky. You almost had me there. Fine. We do this the hard way.”

He gets to his feet, draws himself up to his full, impressive height, and looks down at the dirt where Luther was a moment ago. Cam blinks in surprise. “Where’d you… goddammit…” He looks around, trying to catch a glimpse of where Luther could’ve gotten to.

Luther was not about to let the golden opportunity to run and hide during a big dramatic show of power go to waste. He slides into a patch of underbrush, catches his breath, and takes stock. He has no armor, no food, no bow or arrows. Those are all back at his camp, which is currently ogre territory. He has one sword that he’s okay at using. The ogre has the homefield advantage, and some kind of ability, possibly magical, to hide himself from those who want to find him. Luther shouldn’t let him out of his sight. But he should work on camouflaging himself. He takes a handful of dirt and smears it on his face and shirt. The sword he can’t do much about, he’ll just have to try and keep it from glinting. He glances to his left, away from where Cam still stands, turning in circles and peering around. Luther had only gone a little ways into the woods before he stopped for camp last night. He can almost see the forest’s edge from here. He could dart for the grasslands and try to make it back to the village, but he’d be in plain sight as soon as he’s out of the trees and there’s no guarantee Cam won’t just follow him all the way back. The further he goes into the trees the more firmly he is in Cam’s territory, but the more coverage he has.

Possibilities begin swirling around in his head. His best bet is trickery rather than a face to face confrontation. He’s got a running list in his mind of Cam’s weak points now. Food, monologuing, emotional outbursts. Although that last one’s probably off the table now. Bursting into tears isn’t going to get him out of a second pinch. Bad knees - if he can trip Cam up, he can get a shot at his face again, maybe cut his throat or get at his soft belly and sides. Cam’s a talker and likes to gloat, maybe if he gets him distracted by looking pathetic he could get him to walk right into a trap of some kind. He likes food… but Luther doesn’t have the resources to make a big feast to distract him or sate him, just a pouchful of seasoning that he never leaves home without. His lip wobbles again as he thinks about how that’s back at his camp… he may never see his precious seasonings again.

Meanwhile, Cam is getting frustrated. “Well, the little shit can’t have gone far,” he grumbles. “Just gotta flush 'im out.” Luther watches, petrified, as Cam lumbers over to a nearby patch of underbrush and without warning stomps down on it hard, twisting his foot and smashing every inch of it. He steps back and leans down to inspect what’s left. Luther bites his lip hard to stifle a whimper.

“Nope, not there,” Cam announces. “Eeney, meeney, miney…..” Another bunch of bushes are mercilessly ground into the dirt. “Moe. Hmmm. Where are you?”

Luther can’t stay in his hiding place for long. It’s only a matter of time before Cam gets to him. He needs an opening to make a break for it though, if he runs now Cam will spot him right away. As slowly as he dares, he picks up a large, flat rock, then skims it like a frisbee off to his right, where it hits a tree with a satisfying thock. Cam whirls around, and Luther bolts out of the brush. Cam hears the leaves rustling and turns back around, catching sight of him as he flees.

“There you are! Hold on now, don’t go running off! I just wanna talk, I swear. The whole monster-slaying prince thing not working out for ya? I got a better job offer! You can be my dinner!” Luther keeps sprinting as fast as he can, not even bothering to glance behind him. The last thing he needs is to miss a fallen branch or a groundhog hole and trip.

On flat, open land, the ogre would outpace him easily. But if he can get deeper into the forest where the trees are closer together, that could slow him down enough for Luther to get some distance and hide again, have a moment to breathe and think so he can work on his plan. He’s starting to get an idea of what he’ll need. He needs the element of surprise for sure, and he needs more than just his sword. If he had some rope he could set up a tripwire, maybe. He curses himself for not taking his father’s advice about packing, for letting Cam strip him, for being too weak and scared to do anything when he had the chance, for being born in the first place. His eyes well up with tears and he scrubs at them furiously. He can’t afford to have his sight blurred right now, he needs to keep his head clear and keep moving. He can hear Cam’s thudding footsteps behind him, gaining quickly. He can cover so much more ground in a single step. It’s simply not fair. The little bit of distance he was able to gain with his rock trick is disappearing fast and it won’t be long before he’s in arm’s reach.

Almost as if he can read his thoughts, Cam lunges forward and takes a swipe at him, trying to knock him off his feet. Luther hits the deck and Cam overbalances, stumbling and crashing into a tree. The tree snaps when his weight collides with it, and Cam has to windmill his arms to keep from falling over. Luther scrambles to his feet and keeps running. He even manages to put on an extra burst of speed when he hears Cam roar with frustration behind him. He’s not as fast as he could be because he’s lugging the sword along with him, but he doesn’t dare drop it. It proves its usefulness in the next minute. Cam closes the distance and grabs for him. Luther sees the shadow fall over him and whirls around, lashing out at the reaching hand. He slices across Cam’s palm, and Cam howls with pain and pulls back. Luther dashes away, and Cam stomps his foot in frustration.

"Hold still, dammit! You’re just making it worse for yourself!” He takes off after Luther again, but his stamina’s flagging. It’s harder for a creature his size to haul himself around and he’s used to running down his prey in the first minutes of the chase. This has dragged on long enough to tire him out, but he’s not willing to give up just yet. “When I get my hands on you, tin man, you’re paste,” he growls. “They’re gonna have to come up with new words for how dead you’re gonna be.”

The trees start getting close enough together that Luther has to dodge around them from time to time. He can hear Cam behind him crashing through them, spluttering as he gets a face full of branches and leaves. Luther smiles to himself. That’s nice, at least. At last he gathers up his nerve and dodges to the side behind a particularly large tree, hoping that Cam’s too busy navigating the foliage to notice. His gamble pays off. A few seconds later, the ogre goes lumbering past him without so much as a sideways glance. Luther waits just a moment more, then bolts in the opposite direction.

He’s got a plan now. He probably won’t be able to find Cam again, but Cam can find him. So he’ll set up an ambush. He circles back around to his camp and grabs his supplies as quickly as he can, his bow and arrow, his helmet, his tinderbox, and most importantly, his seasoning. He hunts for deer, takes down a decent-sized buck, and sets up a new campfire, deep in the woods, where the trees are close. He’s hoping that Cam will think that Luther thinks he’s safe in there, and that the smell of the meat cooking will lure Cam in. He takes off his shirt and fills it with twigs and leaves, sets his helmet up on a stick driven into the ground, and makes a decently convincing decoy Luther that he leans against a log. The helmet tilts at an angle that makes it look like he’s fallen asleep. With that set up, and night closing in, Luther climbs up a nearby tree and waits, sword in hand.

He doesn’t watch the fire. He wants to keep his night vision sharp. And sure enough, before too long here comes Cam, moving surprisingly quietly for his size. He squeezes through the trees with barely a rustling of leaves. Cam’s eyes are fixed on the fire and the silhouette that the decoy makes against it. Cam gets right behind the decoy and slams his foot down on it. He grinds it into the dirt with a relish that makes Luther shudder. Then Cam looks at the deer cooking with that lovely smell rising off it, and his eyes go big and shiny. As Cam bends down to pick it up, Luther chooses his moment. He drops like a stone and buries his sword lengthwise in the back of Cam’s neck. The impact sends a jolt up his arms and he hangs on as tight as he can. Cam lets out a garbled scream of pain and collapses face first on the ground. Luther gets to his feet, pulls his sword out with some difficulty, takes a deep breath, and begins to chop.

It’s messy, horrible work. By the third swing tears are rolling down Luther’s cheeks. By the seventh, he’s sobbing. After the twenty-third cut, Cam’s head is finally severed, and rolls to the side. Luther stumbles back. He’s trembling, covered in blood, panting and crying, but it’s finally done.

And then Cam’s head says, “Wow, kid. I didn’t think you had it in you.” Luther watches, dumbfounded, as Cam’s body sits up, searches around with its hands, locates his head, and puts it back on his shoulders as the flesh knits together again. Luther drops his sword in disbelief. He falls to his knees. That was it. That was all he had. He can’t even imagine what he could do against a foe who can just reattach his own head.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Okay. Um. Make it quick, please?” Cam had been planning to crunch the little shit once he was back on his feet, but he can’t help but feel a pang of guilt at how despondent Luther looks.

“Aw, no, no, don’t give up so quick! Really, you almost had me!” Cam scoops him up and pats him on the head. “Look, it was a good effort. I’m sure if you had known I can’t be killed, you wouldn’t have spent all that time and energy trying to kill me. Just do a little more research next time, yeah?"

"Next time,” Luther repeats, and gives a hollow laugh. “There isn’t going to be a next time. I’m not welcome as part of the royal family if I can’t kill a monster. Even my sister’s done her first slaying already. A whole nest of vampires! And I can’t kill one measly ogre."

"Hey, watch who you’re calling measly,” Cam warns, but his heart isn’t in it. “Jeez. You’ve got some issues, kid. Not much of a fighter, I take it?"

Luther shakes his head and sighs. "I’m just not very good at it."

"Well they chose one hell of a first mission for you, that’s for sure. Ogres are tricky ones. We’ve got a lot of defense mechanisms.” Cam thinks for a moment. “You know what you are good at, though? You’re a good talker. Very convincing. I mean, you really had me going, with the crying and all? It was a really good ruse."

Luther bites his lip. "Um…"

"Okay, so it was for real and not a ruse. But you made the best of a bad situation! That’s also a good skill for a ruler to have. You just gotta show your family that your skills are less conventional, but still effective! Like, okay, why do you have to kill me? What’d I do?"

“You’re eating all the farmers’ cattle and scaring people."

"I thought free range meant I had free reign. Eh? Eh?” Cam pokes Luther in the ribs. Luther frowns at him. “Oh, fine, whatever. No sense of humor. You know, that’s pretty important for a king too. Yeah, all right, I’ll leave the cows alone."

"And the sheep,” Luther says sharply. “And the pigs, and chickens."

"I haven’t eaten any pigs or chickens,” Cam protests.

“Not yet. I’m being proactive."

"There you go!” Cam says, beaming. “There’s that negotiator skill! But seriously, if I can’t eat the cows and sheep I’ve got to eat something. Can you make it worth my while? 'Cause I’m not going back to squirrels."

"Well…” Luther says slowly. “What if… I hire you?"

"You… hire me?"

"Yeah. Like, as a bodyguard or something. Then I’d have to pay you, right? I could pay you in food?”

Cam is quiet for a moment. He brings Luther up closer to his face and scrutinizes him. Luther’s heart is pounding out of his chest. For a moment he thinks he’s made some horrible mistake and offended Cam and it’s all over for him. "You’re serious? Not kidding me, here? That’s your offer?”

“Y-yes? Is that… is it bad?"

"Bad? Bad? That’s the best offer I’ve ever heard! Pay me in food? HELL yes, kid! That’s what I like to hear!” The force of Cam’s enthusiasm knocks Luther over on his back. He stares at the sky for a moment. His life is so goddamn weird.

~~~~~~~~~

Luther’s father’s dragon slaying days are behind him. He’s an old man now. He has good days and bad days, but even on his best days he frequently needs help getting around. But when he sees that giant ogre enter his royal halls, he reaches for his spear. Luther eases it out of his hand.

“No, see, it’s okay. I didn’t kill him, but I stopped him terrorizing the countryside, and I kind of… hired him. As my bodyguard. This was easier, and we both benefit, see? Also, um, were you going to tell me ogres are immortal?"

"You were supposed to figure something out,” his father says. “Since you’re so damned smart."

"Well, I did figure something out. Just… maybe not what you wanted me to."

Cam waves lazily. "Hi, Yer Majesty."

"Cam,” Luther hisses. “We talked about this."

"Oh, fine, fine,” Cam grumbles, and takes a knee to bow low before the king. “I humbly pledge my service to your son,” he intones, hamming it up just a little. “Please allow me to protect him from all harms, and so on."

The king glares. His stabbing hand is itching. But he doesn’t currently have a better plan, and this’ll keep the peasants quiet for a bit. "Fine,” he spits, “But you’re taking care of him. Feeding him, walking him, cleaning up after him, whatever. No getting the servants to do it for you. He’s your responsibility now."

Cam grins at Luther. "So, speaking of feeding… when’s dinner?”

#art #writing #giant tiny #g/t #cam and luther #fairy tale au #to be more specific re: content warnings there is a beheading but he gets better so it's okay #tiny knights are very important to me as u can clearly see #there's just something about. someone who is sworn to protect others going up against a force so much larger than themselves #EDIT mobile hates readmores sorry if u get a three mile long post on yr dash :(

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cheeriecherry · 4 years

Text

Space Between [Aizawa Shouta x F!Reader x Yamada Hizashi} [6/9]

EraserMic x Reader

Part 6/9

Warnings: none, a little fluff, some suggestive themes but nothing explicit

The next few days pass both quickly and slowly. Every time you look at the clock, mere minutes have passed since the last time, but when you spend your afternoons planning alongside other pros, it’s so fast-paced you can barely keep up.

Shouta and Hizashi made true on their words, calling in personal favours and putting together a capable team of trusted heroes. You supply them with as much information as you can, about Oracle’s visions as well as how Akuma works. By the end of the week, you’ve got an ambush plan in place.

You’ll be the one luring the villain out into the open, since you’re her prime target. You also know that she won’t show herself unless she has a clear getaway, so unfortunately the street where she attacks you has to stay open to the public. But with Shouta on standby in the vicinity, there shouldn’t be any casualties.

Hizashi and a couple others will be nearby, ready to add some extra hands to the fight if necessary, but if everything goes accordingly then Akuma should be in quirk-nullifying handcuffs in under a minute. Then she’ll be brought into custody, and she’ll be out of your life for good.

Still, you’re on edge. Akuma was well known in the underground for being clever and wily. There was always the possibility that something could go awry, in any way, shape, or form. For instance, if one of your team mates got caught in her tar, the whole plan would go to shit.

You sigh deeply and lean back in your deck chair, staring up at the afternoon sky. The closer you got to your supposed death, the more you felt like you were going to fall prey to it, like Oracle said people did. It felt like fate was swallowing you up, ready to consume you whole.

You have to want to come out of this, they’d said, but you were tired. So tired. Exhausted after years and years of horrific sights and fears. You knew you didn’t want to die, but…

“Is that the same thing as wanting to live…?” you ask yourself, not expecting an answer. Would not wanting to die be enough to free you from Akuma, should she catch you? Or was everything for naught, simply because you were having a hard time? What if all you were doing was walking straight into your own death?

You pinch your eyes shut when the sun becomes too bright to bear. Maybe you should have listened to Hizashi while you’d still had the chance; turned tail and run far away from Akuma, and kept running, and running, and running, and never stopping, never living, never slowing down. Ever.

“What is life without experiences,” you mumble, “if not sadness, if not laughter, if not love…”

Running would mean you’d be alive, but not living. Death meant you would be neither. But which was the worse choice, and for whom?

You just wished you had more time-

You pause, blinking your eyes open in surprise. I’m talking as if I know I’m going to die. Have I seriously condemned myself to this fate?

You frown. There’s hope. There has to be. Even if Akuma catches me, there’s hope…

Until there isn’t.

“Shut up,” you tell yourself, in an attempt to quell your cynical inner voice.

How do I fight without hope? Keep moving forward without hope?

Tears bud behind your eyelashes, though not from the brightness of the sky. You sniffle a little, trying to blink them away, but it’s mere seconds before they’re rolling down your cheeks in tidy little streams. Your body trembles with silent sobs, and you curl yourself tighter into a ball. When was the last time you’d even felt hope?

Hell, when was the last time you’d felt happy?

You let yourself cry for a few minutes, allowing your feelings to run their course and dissipate naturally, like your therapist had suggested you do. When your breathing begins to even out, and your thoughts begin to form again, you wipe your eyes.

When did I last feel hope?

“Coming home,” you whisper, “Seeing Shouta and Hizashi in the airport. Seeing them smile. Feeling safe in their arms. Sleeping a full night beside them, without any nightmares. Having them support me, and stand by me, no matter what.”

And imagining the future the three of us could have. Teaching, loving, living. Maybe getting married? Having a family?

It dawns on you then, a blinding revelation. If you found it hard to have hope and fight for yourself, then maybe you could do it for other people. For their hopes, their lives, their families. Protect them, and stay strong for them, until you found the strength to do it for yourself.

You’d survive, you decide. You’d come out of this for Shouta and Hizashi, for their love and their light, because you knew that with them you’d find hope, and a future, and all three of you were willing to fight for it.

----

Your boyfriends arrive home on schedule, to find the dinner table set and you bringing food out to it. Both of them watch you for a moment, taking note of the skip in your step and the smile on your face.

You greet them happily when you see them in the doorway, coming over to give them both a kiss. Shouta returns his gently, which Hizashi captures you in a hug and peppers smooches all over your cheek.

“Now this is a nice treat to come home to,” the blond says, finding a seat at the table. He at least has the manners to wait until everyone else is sitting before piling food onto his plate. “What’s the occasion, sweetheart?”

You shrug and shake your head, scooping a few things onto your own dish. “No occasion. I’m just...feeling good. Better than I have in a while, actually.”

Shouta gives you one of his rare smiles. “That’s good to hear,” he says, “what changed?”

“Dunno,” you reply. “Well, sort of. Something Oracle had said got me to think.”

“Oh?”

“‘If people don’t want to live, then fate will eat them right up’.”

“They said that?” Hizashi asks around a mouthful of dinner.

“I’m paraphrasing,” you tell him. “My point is�� I have a lot of shit I need to deal with, a lot of baggage I need to unpack, and two weeks isn’t enough time to do that. So until I can find the means to be strong and hopeful for me, I’ve decided that I’m going to do it for you. To protect your futures, your lives, your hearts, all of it. Even if I don’t have hope now, I know that it’ll come back. I just need to work at it, and be patient.”

By the time you finish your little tangent, Hizashi’s eyes have gotten misty, and Shouta’s have an ill-hidden glint of pride. You reach out slowly towards them, and take one of their hands in both of yours.

“I love you both so much, you know? So much. I always have. And no one is going to take that away from me.”

----

You’re staring at the ceiling, the dark, dark ceiling, as the clock ticks past two. Shouta and HIzashi are laid on either side of you, wedging you comfortably between them. They’re both fast asleep, if their even breaths and quiet snores are anything to go by. Oh, how you envied them.

Instead, though, you’re awake. Very awake, counting the tiles above you for the fourth time. Your earlier pleasant mood has all but vanished, leaving you riddled with your more common anxiety and restlessness.

Careful not to wake your boyfriends, you shimmy out of bed and sneak into the living room, where you then slip outside onto the back deck.

Your intention was to find a cozy spot and watch the city lights in the sky for a while, but instead you find a familiar hooded figure hunkered down on one of the chairs, curled up tightly and looking extremely small.

You take a seat beside them, keeping your eyes trained on them while they catch their breath. Their shoulders are stiff, and their nails are biting into their palms from being curled into such tight fists. You know they wouldn’t have sought you out if they didn’t want to talk, but you still decide not to push them into conversation.

It takes a few minutes for them to speak, breaking the comfortable silence amassed between you.

“I keep seeing people dying,” they mumble, tucking their knees closer to their chest.

“That’s how your quirk works, isn’t it?”

They nod. “Yeah, but I mean specifically next week. Every time I warn someone, it seems like there’s two more visions that need sorting.”

“It sounds tiring,” you admit. “It must be exhausting having other people’s fates in your hands.”

Oracle sighs. They push their hood off and let it flop around their shoulders, finally letting you see their mop of dark hair. They haven’t got their usual mask on tonight either, and you’re sure that you can count a couple freckles splattered across tawny cheeks.

“It is,” they tell you, “not just the mental and emotional toll, but the physical, too. I have seizures every time I have a vision, y’know? I have medication that stops them, but...it also stops the visions.”

Your eyebrows rise into your hairline. You’re genuinely shocked that a quirk could have such an expensive side effect on someone, especially a literal kid.

“Maybe you should take your medication-”

“Not until I have another way to help people!” Their tone is sharp, but they look abashed as soon as the words leave their mouth. “Sorry…”

“It’s fine, kid. I get it.” And you do. All throughout your life, you wanted nothing more than to do good and make a difference in people’s lives, no matter the personal cost. “But...it’s important to take care of yourself too, okay? Otherwise you’ll end up...well, like me.”

They pout at your words, and it looks like they want to make a sarcastic quip, but they decide against it and the two of you lull into silence. It lasts almost ten minutes this time, and for a minute you wonder if Oracle has fallen asleep.

But when you glance over at them, they’re staring at the dark cloudy sky.

“Is...is there any way you can move Akuma’s ambush to a more secluded area?” they ask, voice so quiet you can barely hear them. “Or close the street off?”

“I’m sorry, kid,” your shoulders fall and you cast your eyes downward. “If I could, I would. But this is the only time we know for certain where she’s gonna be. We can’t risk throwing that away. Not for my safety, not for the public’s safety.” Your voice is small and bitter when you utter your next words, “As much I hate to have that mentality, catching her now will save more people in the long run.”

You can feel Oracle’s annoyance bubbling off them, even from several feet away, and quite frankly you don’t blame them. It was an unfortunate way of thinking you’d had to adopt while you were undercover, to keep yourself from trying to save everyone. It was one of the most difficult things you’d ever had to learn, forcing yourself to put your mission and future lives ahead of the currently-suffering.

Every time you’d watched your superiors kill an innocent person, you’d silently promised them that they wouldn’t die for nothing. But it still drove you crazy.

“That’s a stupid way to think,” Oracle hisses.

“I know.”

“People matter. No matter how small their lives may seem, how insignificant, they matter.”

“I know.”

“So if you can’t change the ambush, then I want in on it. I know who I’m looking for. I can find them, and get them out of the area safely.”

You groan inwardly and let your head fall forward. “Kid, I can’t legally allow you to do that-”

“Y/N, please!”

“I said legally.”

They bite their tongue and quiet down, catching onto your plan quickly. You explain to them how the ambush is going to work, letting them know where everyone would be and what roles they’d all play. Oracle winces a little when they realize you’re basically the bait for the whole operation, but you assure them that you’re in good hands. You trust the people you’re working with, and you trust your boyfriends.

“Don’t wear your vigilante uniform either, you’ll be too easily spotted. But make sure you bring a mask in your pocket to protect your identity.”

They nod enthusiastically, hanging on your every word. You emphasize the fact that they need to stay out from underfoot, lest they interfere with the plan you’ve set in place. “And once all your visions are dealt with, you get out of there. You don’t stick around to try and help more people. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am!”

You roll your eyes at their childish demeanor, and silently wonder if you’ve made the right choice in letting them help, or if you’d just sentenced a kid to their demise.

A shiver wracks your body and draws you out of your thoughts, and you’re suddenly very aware that you’re only in thin shorts and a tank top.

“You should go inside,” Oracle says, standing up. “Wouldn’t want you getting sick. Besides, it’s almost three, and I have class at eight. I should go home before my dad scolds me.”

Your heart aches for them, for the stress they have bearing down on such young shoulders.

You stand up beside them, stretch, and shiver again. “What are you studying for?” you ask before they leave, hiding a smile when their face lights up.

“I’m gonna be an EMT!” they declare proudly. “I’ve always wanted to help people, even before I knew what to do with my quirk. I figured that since I work well under pressure, a high stress job would be suitable.”

You smile fondly at them, feeling some kind of almost-parental affection. “Keep working at it, then, and I’m sure you’ll get there. You’re a smart kid.”

They grin back at you with a cheeky expression. “The day that ‘Oracle’ disappears is the day you’d better watch out for me on the scene! I’ll be there, in the background.”

You bid your goodnights to each other after that, and you wait until they’re out of sight before walking back into the warmth of the house.

When you get in, you’re somehow unsurprised to find Shouta waiting for you on the couch. His expression and posture are both relaxed and neutral, but you can tell there’s something on his mind.

“How much did you hear?” you ask sheepishly.

“Enough,” he says. “You’re letting a vigilante help? Do you even know them?”

You take a seat beside him on the couch, falling sideways to cuddle up on his chest. He tosses an arm around your waist, pulling you closer and holding you safe.

“They’re the one who gave us this opportunity in the first place,” you chide, “without them, I’d be dead and you’d be getting a solemn phonecall about it. Besides, they would’ve shown up anyways. At least this way, they can stay out from under our feet.”

Shouta sighs deeply, a low rumble you feel against your body. His arm tightens around you ever so slightly, and you glance up at him.

“What’re you thinking about?” you wonder, reaching up to curl a few strands of his hair around your fingers.

“Oracle. They just...remind me a lot of my students, is all.”

“How so?”

“Young and naive, determined to the point of stupidity-”

You snicker quietly.

“-but hopeful, and filled with potential. Granted they have a good guiding hand.”

You stretch up and lay a couple soft kisses along his jaw. “You’re students are lucky to have you,” you tell him honestly. “As am I.”

You lay there for a few more minutes, sharing idle thoughts and sweet kisses, simply enjoying each other’s company. You know he’s worried about the fight to come, about your survival, as well as the people caught in the crossfire. You know he’d never say any of it out loud, but you can feel it in the tension he carries.

Hoping to ease him a little, you deepen your kisses, moving your lips slowly and sensually, teasing him with the tip of your tongue. He makes a noise low in his throat, and before you know it he’s flipped your positions, caging you in beneath him.

You whine as he mouths along your jaw and throat, squirming a little against the weight of his body as his hands slip under your shirt to knead at your chest. His lips trail further and further downwards, and you eagerly press up against him, moving around so his thigh comes to rest between your legs. But just as you’re ready to fully submit to him, he pauses.

“The things I’d love to do to you,” he mutters, and pulls back. You make a noise of protest, wriggling a little to try and reestablish the delicious attention he’d been giving you.

He shushes you with a kiss.”Behave,” he tells you firmly, a thinly veiled order that only serves to spark your arousal. “You’re exhausted, Y/N. As much as I’d love to have my way with you, you can barely keep your eyes open.”

You hate to admit it in such circumstances, but you know he’s right. You feel heavy and hazy, and not just from his earlier ministrations.

He gives one last kiss to the crown of your head, and rolls off you, pulling you to your feet alongside him. You wander back to bed together, smiling when you find Hizashi still out cold, and slip quietly back under the covers.

You fade into sleep to the sound of soft goodnights.

----

You’re alone the next morning when you wake, as per usual. You vaguely recall your boyfriends kiss you good morning and then goodbye, but you had still been mostly asleep then.

You’re pretty certain you’d had some unsettling dreams, no different than usual, but it shocked you how quickly you’d gotten used to not having them. A couple good days in a row, and you were left quaking by the return of your nightmares.

There was the familiar imagery of your past, of course, it was something you dreamt of often. But alongside those thoughts were worries and fears of your future. At this point, you had less than a week until Akuma’s attack, and your nerves were starting to get the better of you.

Despite your earlier enthusiasm about ‘staying strong for other people’, you’re once again finding it difficult to imagine a happy outcome. Your therapist had mentioned you’d have high points and low points in your recovery, and that you couldn’t force yourself to feel or not feel either of them. But what if you were in a low point during the attack? What if you got caught and you couldn’t find the strength that day to get out?

What if ‘being in a low spot’ meant you’d die?

You grumble and pinch your eyes shut, rolling over in bed, but it’s too bright and you’re too alert now to fall back asleep.

Maybe you’d feel better if you did something today. You knew your schedule was clear for the afternoon, not having a therapy session until tomorrow. Maybe you could try and brave the mall again…

You weren’t sure if you’d be able to cope, should you get anxious, but a little piece of you really really wanted to try. Plus, you were running out of clothes to wear, and you’d already done the laundry twice.

Maybe you could get something for your boys, too…

----

The mall is less busy than the last time you’d ventured out, which you’re grateful for. Fewer people overall, and a quieter atmosphere made it a little easier to handle, but you still had a pair of Hizashi’s fancy headphones tucked away in case you needed some quiet.

You wander in and out of several stores, perusing the clothes and trying a few things on. You end up putting most of it back on the shelves, but you manage to find two or three things in every store you visit. It’s a substantial haul when all is said and done, and your arms are loaded with bags.

In the past, you would have smacked yourself on the back of the head for spending so much money in one sitting, but with the paycheck you’d gotten for your time undercover, you could afford to go a little overboard.

At least the commission hadn’t been stingy on it’s compensation, for all the shit you had to deal with now.

You set your purchases down on an empty bench and sort your clothes into just a few bags, so it would be easier to carry home. Part of you cringes when you look at the receipts, but you quickly shove them away. Out of sight, out of mind.

Then, just when you’re about to pack up and leave, a blindingly pink store catches your eye. Oh.

Well, you had wanted to get something for Hizashi and Shouta...and thinking back to the previous night, when Shouta’d had his hands up your shirt, you know that both of them would appreciate something like that.

So you wander into the lingerie shop, growing shy as you wander around the racks and look at all the options. You didn’t want something too difficult to remove, even though all the strings and straps would be sexy, and you didn’t want something too plain, or innocent.

You think hard about it as you flip through clothes hangers and observe each set. Wrong colour, wrong shape, wrong size, too flashy, not flashy enough, itchy fabric...it feels like an impossible mission to find anything even remotely suitable.

You’re just about to give up and walk out, when your eyes land on one of the mannequins. It was unrealistically proportioned, but you were more interested in the lingerie it was displaying. Simple, classic, elegant, sexy...it was perfect.

You find your size on the shelf beside the display, and walk out of the store a few minutes later with another bag in hand, feeling remarkably pleased with yourself. You only hope your boyfriends wouldn’t tear the set to shreds when they finally got their hands on you.

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #eraserhead x reader #yamada hizashi x reader #present mic x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #Space Between

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dwellordream · 3 years

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A Six of Crows Review: Kaz V through Kaz VI

Previously

On the positive side of things, the reveal of Kaz’s backstory and how he and his brother were conned of their life’s savings and left to starve on the streets is well done. I have to give credit where credit is due in Kaz V. Bardugo very effectively shows the differences between the innocent and playful little boy Kaz was and the cruel and spiteful young man he’s become with the recounting.

On the negative side of things, the efforts by the author to get the reader invested in a burgeoning relationship between Kaz and Inej falls totally flat. Not just because Kaz is a dick who can’t work out that he should probably thank Inej for saving all their lives, but because the narrative keeps insisting to us that there is chemistry and mutual romantic feelings between the two of them, but never really bothers to show it.

Kaz is mean to girls he likes. Inej thinks he’s attractive. It doesn’t go much deeper than that. It feels like Bardugo is far more committed to the relationship than even her audience would be, and we’re nearly at the halfway point of the novel.

I still don’t see why I should want the two of them to be together. I mean, Jesus, there’s more depth between Nina and Matthias, and Matthias’ entire character and backstory is rife with fucking Nazi imagery!

Matthias II does a decent job at continuing to develop his character and his relationship with Nina, though at times it does veer into ‘walking camera’ territory before the flashback to the shipwreck begins.

I find it a little unrealistic how easily Nina falls into a pretty friendly manner with Matthias after they wash up on land, even if she doesn’t think he’s much of a threat to her with them both exhausted and sick from hours swimming for shore.

Cracking jokes with the man who captured her to take her to her death seems a little weird, and it doesn’t seem like this is supposed to be taken as shock induced hysterics. I would think she’d have harsher words for him than ‘big idiot’ and ‘prude’.

And if I never have to read Matthias ‘indecently round’ comment again, I’ll die happy. Is Bardugo aware she can just call a character fat? Heavyset? Chunky? It’s not a dirty word.

Bardugo does try to confront this disparity - the obvious passion between Matthias and Nina, in contrast to the fact that he has been raised to hate all grisha and to an extent still does - with the scene of the pyres. Nina does get in some good lines - “Do you have a different name for killing when you wear a uniform to do it?”, while Matthias defends his prejudice by pointing out that Ravkan grisha soldiers destroyed his home and slaughtered his family.

This is where the real world connections fall flat on their face. Bardugo puts in some pretty obvious connections to actual historical atrocities, such as the witch trials that occurred across Europe during the Renaissance, and the Fjerdan’s whole national image pretty clearly taking some cues from Nazi Germany.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, men fight to protect the fatherland, women stay home and have more pure Fjerdan children, grisha are demons on this earth and lower than dogs who must be exterminated for the greater good… If the latter is unintentional, damn, it is one hell of a coincidence.

But the point is, while real world minorities are guilty of nothing but existing, fictional minorities such as the grisha are depicted as dangerous and capable of wide scale destruction. Real world racism, antisemitism, and other forms of intolerance isn’t based off anything except prejudice, paranoia, and convenient scapegoating.

Yet in Bardugo’s world, there is real basis, and that’s where it gets thorny, and where this novel really, really could have used some sensitivity readers.

And while Matthias II does get at some actual thought provoking conflict between Matthias and Nina, it’s almost all undone in Nina II, which has Nina seemingly forget most of the massive fight she just had with him, and start thinking about how she wants to kiss him again. This, after she just saw the horrific evidence of what Fjerdans do to grisha.

I understand what Bardugo is trying to do, cutting between their current conflict and their reluctant bonding in the past, but there’s just not enough substance to it. I don’t buy that Nina would so easily come to trust, even love, someone dedicated to killing her kind. I don’t buy that Matthias would so easily fall for her.

And I especially don’t like the false equivalence that the narrative tries to bring about by suggesting that Nina is ‘just as guilty’ as Matthias for turning on him when they made it back to civilization. Matthias somehow can’t connect how what he hates her for; falsely accusing him, having him imprisoned, chained up in the belly of a ship, is exactly what he’d just done to her.

Why should Nina have trusted him, just because he became infatuated with her? He hardly changed his mind about all grisha, he just became attracted to one. Matthias does deserve punishment for his behavior. Is rotting in prison for the rest of his life the solution? No, but neither is getting to walk away scot free.

Nina reveals that she in fact accused Matthias of slaving to spare him the worse fate of being captured and brought back to Ravka to be tortured and executed as a druskelle.

Honestly, I don’t think this reveal was necessary at all. I could excuse and even welcome some spite from Nina towards him. Instead this just paints her as this all-compassionate, pure-hearted angel willing to repeatedly sacrifice herself for the sake of both friends and enemies. I like Nina, but I’d like her better with more bite to her.

Inej V unfortunately takes us right back into walking camera territory for her. This could be any character narrating this chapter, and it does little to nothing to develop her.

The travel descriptions are also not terribly interesting and I don’t think the pacing is handled all that well; the book started fast, got even faster and choppier as the Crows came together, and is now grinding into a dull slog ever since they landed in Fjerda, which is a much more thinly sketched setting than Ketterdam.

I think it might have made better use of the book to work it out so all the events took place within the confines of the city, to add to the themes of how Ketterdam can make or break any one of them, but too late now.

It’s even more insulting when contrasted with Kaz VI, which continues to detail Kaz’s backstory, which is where Bardugo is at her strongest. It just emphasizes that this book would have worked better with few characters, tighter characterization, and a plot confined to Ketterdam and its mundane capitalist horrors. It’s too thinly stretched between multiple POV characters, half of whom are barely developed, the other half of whom are frustratingly botched in their development.

I know jack shit about Jesper and Wylan, and it’s aggravating. I still know very little about Inej. Kaz, Nina, and Matthias get the most attention, and Kaz still isn’t very believable or compelling in the present, just the past, whereas Nina and Matthias’ intertwined story is an awkwardly arrayed mess of conflicting ideals and poor characterization decisions.

I only have about a hundred pages left of this book, and right now it’s hovering at like a C- rating. Not badly written enough to be offensive or infuriating, but still firmly stuck in some mediocre traction that, with more stringent editing, could have been resolved.

There are some good plot ideas and good character concepts here, but they’re lost in the mire. I’m barely even invested in the actual heist plot, which just doesn’t feel as urgent as it should, and the characters are not compelling enough to make up for it

#six of crows #in review #kaz brekker #nina zenik #matthias helvar #ya lit

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thanksjro · 4 years

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More Than Meets the Eye #13- Swerve Doesn’t Have Any Friends

Okay, let’s go ahead and get this out of the way.

It’s a FUCKING SPORTS BRA AND RUNNING SHORTS ALEX.

And don’t think I don’t see that friggin’ cleavage alien back there. You ain’t slick.

I’m going to make it a law that all comic book artists learn how to draw clothes that don’t vacuum-seal themselves to women’s bodies. Milne gets six months for this infraction alone, and Roche gets a year for the initial bra crime he committed back in Last Stand. Learn how women’s underwear works, you ninnies.

Our issue opens up with Swerve stretching his radio personality muscles.

Oh, Guido Guidi, whisk me away to flights of fancy!

Our artist for this issue is none other than Guido Guidi, ascended from fanwork to deliver us from evil with his near-superhuman ability to emulate other artists’ styles and just make things look really pretty. He was responsible for the mythos pages in the 2012 Annual, AKA the best part. He also filled in on some of the art for Last Stand of the Wreckers, not that I really noticed because he’s just that good.

Swerve lets Blurr know that while it might have looked like the Lost Light had exploded, thus killing everyone onboard back in issue #1, that isn’t actually what happened. I’m glad someone filled in the Cybertronian populace on that.

I was never great at math, but those speech bubbles might be phoning it in a bit.

Swerve says that he’s having a great time on the quest, despite all the hiccups, and we get an explanation for why this long-range communications system hasn’t been seen prior to this point. It’s been broken for a while- most likely due to the quantum jump that started the series off with a bang- but Blaster managed to get it running again. Good job, Blaster. With this little setup for our framing device out of the way, we get into the meat of the story.

Swerve is being nosey about things that weren’t any of his business, happening in a closed off room, when Drift drags him down the hall and hid him away for safety. Swerve doesn’t much appreciate being manhandled, but there’s a method to the madness here.

Drift’s nose has vacated the premises once again, so we’re just going to have to deal with that. And how shapely does one have to be to be known as “the guy with the legs”? I mean, Drift is RIGHT THERE.

Drift uses his own powerful legs to kick down the door to Cyclonus and Tailgate’s room. It turns out that the horrific screaming wasn’t the sound of a murder or sexual relations taking place, but rather that of Cyclonus singing in Old Cybertronian.

My god, he’s completely enamored with this unrepentant murder machine.

We are just all up in Cyclonus’ grill for this panel. Nothing but lips. Was this specified in the script? Because it feels like it might have been specified in the script.

Old Cybertronian, or the Primal Vernacular as some might call it, was last seen in general when Rodimus channeled the will of the trapped Titan all across Tailgate’s chest. It was last seen spoken when we met Vos, the terrible murder gremlin who turns into a gun and uses his face to cause puncture trauma.

Comic books are wild, y’all.

Now that we’ve established that no one’s being killed, Drift goes back to what he was doing earlier, with Swerve deciding to tag along because he’s horrifically lonely. He invites Drift to come room up with him, because I guess if you’re going to sell off your comatose roommate’s bed out from under him, you might as well go for the guy who’s third in command, is probably one of the hottest guys on the ship, and slices people into chunky salsa if they try anything funny.

Drift politely declines, and awkwardly removes himself from the conversation when Swerve doesn’t take the hint, returning to his sword lesson with Rodimus.

Oh thank god, the obnoxiously pink room is back.

Ultra Magnus bursts into the room, appalled by the actions of his fellow crew members. Some of his concerns are well-placed. Others, well…

Is- is that another friggin’ retainer on those lower teeth? Why does this design choice keep showing up?

So Magnus has imprisoned roughly a third of the ship at this point, and Rodimus suggests he take a chill pill. Magnus doesn’t even know what a chill pill even is, so we’re forced to make use of our most dangerous weapon- the threat of a good time, courtesy of Swerve.

The fact that Ultra Magnus hasn’t reduced Swerve to an oil stain on the floor is genuinely astounding. The guy has zero respect for bureaucracy or proper business management. It has been MONTHS, you dinky little man, get your act together as a business owner.

Swerve takes the bribe, and soon everyone’s shipping off to Hedonia, where the drinks are plentiful and the women… well, most of the Lost Lighters don’t even know what a woman is, so that aspect doesn’t really come into play. Thanks, Furman.

Also, Rung’s back to normal. Don’t worry about it, not a big deal.

Swerve isn’t having much luck on his Roommate Quest, as Tailgate spurns his advances, stating that he’s good kicking it with Cyclonus, mainly because they’re both old as shit.

I see we haven’t quite hit the threshold on the “Cyclonus is allowed to have friends now” meter. Give it a few more issues, I’m sure we’ll get there.

Man, zero for two for Swerve on trying to get a hot roommate. Maybe third time’s a charm?

Rodimus pops into the back of the shuttle to remind everyone that their entire race is more or less despised by the entire galaxy, and to play it safe by using their holomatter avatars.

The revamp by Brainstorm and Rung is truly a blessing, because the avatars in IDW were awful to look at up to this point.

Y’all, that is HOT ROD. Jesus wept.

Getting back to Tailgate’s questionable taste in companionship, Tailgate asks if Swerve and Blurr connected right away. Swerve gives him an affirmative, then starts listing off the guy’s racing stats until Ultra Magnus plops down between the two of them, drawn in by the melodious sound of statistics.

Magnus is having a hard time relaxing, but he’s giving it his best, and I think that’s very commendable of him. It’s hard trying new things.

On the surface of Hedonia, it would appear the B-Movies are having a Pride event in the entertainment district.

Okay, moment of truth- show us those avatars!

Oh thank god, they aren’t totally hideous. Though, isn’t Rewind old as shit? I guess youth is a state of mind. Still, I can’t believe we missed out on silver fox Rewind.

Rung’s line is in response to folks at the time claiming that Rung was a self-insert character, which is interesting, because we’ve already seen what a self-insert looks like when it’s Roberts doing the inserting, and we’ve also seen his Mary Sues.

Rung, while an original character who had appeared in Roberts’ pre-professional works (a single line of text in Eugenesis, where he was a psychiatry play-on-words), he isn’t what I’d consider a Mary Sue. Mary Sues are usually stunningly beautiful, beloved by their peers, insanely talented in ways that no other character is, and typically have some sort of connection to another character that more or less forces them into the story despite not needing to exist.

Mary Sues don’t get their friggin’ heads exploded, or exist in a constantly-forgettable state. Sure, he’s the only therapist we’ve ever seen in the Transformers franchise, but there was kind of a massive need for that sort of character to be created, seeing as all of these sons of guns have PTSD and clinical depression. And, as we’ve seen in previous issues and will continue to see later on, he’s really not even that great at it.

That isn’t to say that he doesn’t have certain traits befitting such a characterization, merely that they don’t add up to equal that sort of whole by issue #13. Transformers (2009)-era Drift is way closer to a true Mary Sue than Rung is.

Anyway, where the hell did Tailgate get to?

They really just let Frodo Baggins in this bar all babybjörned up, huh? Does Tailgate even know what a baby even is at this point? Does he just think he’s a very small person? How much human media has he consumed? We haven’t gotten into the reproductive process for the continuity yet, but fresh Cybertronians aren’t exactly a one-to-one to human infants. Damn it, Roberts, what the fuck am I supposed to make of Babygate?

Whirl’s off in the corner, disguised as a 12-year old girl who’s fucking STRAPPED. Magnus has disappeared, but Rewind locates him pretty easily as Rung makes a comment about Magnus needing to make an appointment with him.

Oh hey, Verity. Been a minute. Careful, ol’ six-eyes over there is leering at you.

The fellas come back to the bar as they truly are, and sit down for a round of drinks. Whirl gets Ultra Magnus a drink that sounds disturbingly like a Cybertronian equivalent to Milk Coke, and we get a little anatomy lesson. Transformers have something called a Fuel Intake Moderation chip, something that keeps them from getting drunk on pretty much the only thing they can consume. Swerve suggests Magnus turn his off so he can have a good time- which I don’t personally agree with, but this is Captain Stick-in-the-Mud we’re talking about here. Magnus gives it a shot.

And that’s a series wrap on Ultra Magnus!

No, the man’s just got no tolerance and has been knocked the hell out by his drink. Things begin devolving. Tailgate is crying. Skids has found out that Whirl didn’t give Magnus Milk Coke at all, but instead the equivalent of liquid cocaine. Swerve is convinced he’s going to prison. Rewind is filming the whole thing.

Nobody actually checks to see if Magnus is actually dead, until Rung gets around to it. Swerve, you’re a doctor by original trade, what the hell are you doing?

The boys sit Magnus at the table to wait out his nap. Hours later, nothing’s changed, except that they’ve started up the nemesis game, and Whirl’s decided he’s going to be rude about monoformers being monoformers. Rung gives a non-answer, because that’s just who he is as a person. Skids names Misfire as his worst enemy, only because he’s still missing a good chunk of memory and can’t remember if he had a worst enemy, but still wants to contribute to the conversation.

Rung, don’t be a dick, he did his best. You were right on top of Fort Max, it was a tricky shot.

Ultra Magnus finally starts waking up, and that’s the point where everyone decides to foot Swerve with the bill for the emotional labor he’s going to have to perform by explaining just what the friggity-frack happened.

Magnus starts laughing, then crying, then offloads his troubles onto Swerve. Magnus feels like he just doesn’t fit in on the Lost Light. He’s just trying to do his job and everyone makes fun of him, or disrespects his authority. He’s trying, he really is, but he’s just not built for post-war life. He’s actually tried to leave his position on the Lost Light, but they just keep pulling him back in.

Probably doesn’t help that Rodimus seems more interested in Drift’s opinion on matters than his own SIC half the time.

Oh no, he’s making digs at the things Swerve’s sensitive about. Where is Rung?

Magnus just wants to be understood, y’know? He’s a fully realized creation. He’s got interests. Like music! And the fact that Swerve is missing his Autobot badge!

This was the point where MTMTE was still bouncing back and forth on whether it wanted to commit to the crotch badge. It was a tumultuous time for everyone, very dark days.

WHERE THE FUCK IS RUNG

Magnus, having had enough of sharing his feelings, takes another sip of his cocaine and slips back into unconsciousness. Swerve admits to his limp body that people don’t actually like him, but rather only stick around because of what he can offer- namely, a good time.

The rest of the Swerve posse comes back, with Cyclones having joined the party. Rung shows off his new model ship, which gets Rewind started on his movie collection. He pulls up the opening ceremony for the Ark 1. Y’know, the Ark 1, that ship that Cyclonus was on that disappeared into the Dead Universe for six million years. The Ark 1 that Tailgate was supposed to be on.

Before we can get started however, someone throws the model at Rewind’s head.

That someone is none other than Cyclonus, who proceeds to fly into a rage, throwing tables and shoving the still-unconscious Ultra Magnus to the floor. My word, what a reaction! What could possibly be setting him off so much? Does he not like being reminded of his fated trip to the stars? Is this a manifestation of trauma from that event?

Who knows? No time for questions, Skids is too busy punching him in the face.

Tailgate intervenes, explaining that because Cyclonus and himself are so goddamn old, the engex Cyclonus consumed is wreaking havoc on his body. He tells the rest of them to go on while he tries to calm Cyclonus down. Interesting that Rewind doesn’t have any sort of input on this, given that he is also super fucking old, but there’s no time for questions! We’ve got to get Ultra Magnus back on the shuttle in the next 20 minutes, or else they’ll be stuck on Hedonia FOREVER.

They start throwing Magnus on the floor repeatedly, trying to get his t-cog to spin up. No dice, however.

It’s 4AM. Do you know where your Domey is? Because Rewind sure as hell doesn’t.

Okay, time for Plan B.

I’m guessing not, Rung. I’m guessing not.

Using Magnus as a trampoline does the trick, and the boys are rewarded with the sight of Magnus’ alt-mode… resting on its roof, upside down. They get him sorted, pile in the cab- Rewind is driving, which leads me to believe he at least has some experience handling a vehicle. Chromedome does turn into a car…

I don’t even know what that sort of activity implies for a Transformer. We won’t go any further down this line of thought.

The boys manage to get Ultra Magnus to the shuttle in time, and all’s well that ends well!

This is about the time that Blaster knocks on the glass at Swerve to wrap things up, seeing as he’s been at this for over nine hours now. There’s one last little aside before we’re done with our story, however, and it involves just what happened in the bar after everyone else left.

Cyclonus calmed down almost immediately after the rest of the guys left, paying for what he broke and inviting Tailgate to have a seat.

Well, I say invite, but it’s really more of an order.

If you’d already figured out at this point that this jumpy little marshmallow was lying about being the biggest badass who ever lived, a gold star for you! It turns out, dear Tailgate has been crafting a fabrication, spinning a yarn, telling a tall tale since Day One on the Lost Light. The story has been feeding us a steady diet of fish the whole time!

Red herring!

Red herring of Tailgate’s own design! Autopedia’s mods are a friggin’ joke.

Tailgate was supposed to be a the Ark 1 launch, but it was because he was on the cleanup crew. Boy’s a sluicer, and his arm SHOULD say "waste disposal”. Through a cunning use of his wits and cold reading, Tailgate faked his way through the dismantling of the bomb on Temptoria. A smart boy, he is, if not a bit self-centered.

Which brings us to why exactly Cyclonus freaked out in the bar: he wasn’t having an episode, but rather faking a reaction to prevent Tailgate’s lie from being exposed. He still thinks that Tailgate should come clean about this whole thing, before things get really messy, but it wouldn’t be an issue of MTMTE without some raw-ass emotions getting thrown about.

Cyclonus, who hasn’t allowed himself to feel anything other than simmering rage or national pride for over six million years, is beginning to feel something for Tailgate.

That feeling is sympathy, and maybe a little pity.

He offers to teach Tailgate a song to help him feel better, because that’s what he does when he has feelings.

And given that Cyclonus seems to sing often enough that Tailgate’s gotten used to the horrific sound, it might be that Cyclonus has feelings a hell of a lot more often than he lets on.

Roberts, how many times are you going to make Tailgate cry? How much pain are you going to subject him to before you’re satisfied?

The scene closes out on the two of them getting their karaoke on in the empty bar, in the god-awful language that is Old Cybertronian. I can only imagine that they get kicked out of the bar pretty quickly after this.

Getting back to the present, Swerve has finally, finally finished his story, closing out with an invitation for Blurr to come visit Swerve’s.

Blaster gets ready to shoot one hell of a voice message at Blurr, but there’s a problem; the number Swerve has isn’t long enough to be a personal hailing frequency.

Yeah, turns out that Tailgate isn’t the only liar on board the Lost Light.

Four million years ago, Swerve met Blurr at a publicity event, got way too friendly with a celebrity, pestered the guy until he gave him a fake number, and has convinced himself that he made a life-long friend to this very day.

Big oof.

Later, back at Swerve’s, Swerve is busy cleaning the glassware when Ultra Magnus comes in, sober and having just gotten out of surgery to fix his fuel tanks. Guess that second sip of Nucleon really wasn’t a good idea.

Swerve tries to tell a lie about what happened the night before, only to have the dawning horror that Magnus remembered the entire night, as he’s presented with a new badge. Swerve, bolstered by the fact that, while Magnus didn’t enjoy the previous evening, he appreciated having company, begins to ask Magnus if he’d want to room with him.

Wow, zero for three! That’s rough, buddy.

Kind of a bummer end to this whole issue, but it was still decently light, tone-wise, for MTMTE. A great deal of fun was had, in between all the mortifying reveals of our characters inner demons.

...Well, shit.

#transformers #jro #mtmte #issue 13 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #overthinking about robots #incoming analysis #comic script writing

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amazingmsme · 4 years

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Cabin Fever

AN: I had 2 different prompts for a Sam & Bucky fic where Sam cheers him up, & my sad yearning ass stuck in quarantine ran with it! Hope y’all enjoy!

The world has endured many struggles, many challenges, but she will always heal. But in the time it takes to get there, it can be bad and ugly. Bucky had seen more bad than good to be honest. Born near the end of the First World War, he grew up in a post war state. Many people who he should've known had died, and those around him shared that hole. Which is why the 20's were such a breath of fresh air. Everyone wanted to party and live high, but they soared too close to the sun, and the economy crashed.

He spent his adolescent years struggling to live through the depression. It wasn't easy, nor was it pretty, and he went to bed hungry every night. But through all the shit that had been thrown his way, he had Steve. Then, more war. He was afraid and angry with what was happening, and knew something had to be done. He made some amazing friends during that time, and lost a good few. That was when he and Steve became frozen in time, the latter quite literally so.

He doesn't remember too much from his time spent as Hydra's murdering puppet. It's all flashes of pain, fear, and screams. A hand on a throat, feeling as the windpipe gave way. A finger on a trigger from a distance. A knife plunged deep into a chest. It was all him, and yet, it wasn't. It was as though he was in an empty theater strapped to a chair, being forced to watch this horrific movie play out before his own eyes. For the longest time, he had no control. He wasn't an active part of his life. And then he broke free. He managed to escape, and was wanted for his crimes. He even managed to split up the avengers, the guilt overwhelming him. If he had just stayed low, none of that would've happened.

And then those weird fucking monster things came down from space, yearning for blood and ready to destroy anything in their path. They fought good and hard, and he honestly thought they would win. The next thing he knows, he missed out on another four years of life that he won't be able to get back. His best friend in the world was now an old man, getting to live the life he had missed out on. He wasn't going to lie, that hurt. A lot.

But scattered amongst the wreckage of his life, glimpses of light shone through. His mother's warm embrace and gentle hum. Steve's bright smile and even brighter laugh. He and Natasha connected on another level that you couldn't even dream. T'Challa was understanding and a good friend to him while he was staying in Wakanda. Shuri was an actual saint, giving him a new arm and offering friendship in a dark and lonely time. He and Sam became reluctant friends, then took a shine to each other. Their sense of humor is one in the same, and they share the same taste on a lot of things. He was kind, funny, witty, compassionate, strong, the list could go on forever. And he was falling hook line and sinker. Utterly and completely head over heels.

Then just when he believed things might be looking up, the whole world shuts down. He remembers from what his mom said, there had been a pandemic in 1920. The Spanish Flu, if he remembered correctly. And now, exactly 100 years later, another pandemic rose from the ashes like the most hideous phoenix. Just when he was finally able to go out and try to live a normal life, another obstacle drops in his path. He had a whole list of things he wanted to do and places to see, and now he doesn't get to do any of that. Trapped within four walls and slowly going crazy.

He had every right to be mad. Nothing, it seems, would ever work out in his favor. And to top it all off, he was stuck with the man he wanted to kiss so badly but couldn't for fear of ruining what they had. He wanted to rip his fucking hair out.

Sam, god bless him, tried his best to keep him in good spirits. When news of covid-19 first spread, he had said, "There's still plenty of things we can do inside! I have Steve's old list of things he needed to catch up on, and I know you haven't heard of any of this stuff either, so we get to start from the top!" He excitedly pulled out the notepad, a few items down the list having been crossed off. "And the best part is, I keep remembering things I forgot to add, so we won't run out."

"Yippy," Bucky said in a flat tone. Sam nudged him with his elbow.

"Hey, there's some good stuff on here! There's tv shows, movies, and some of the greatest songs and bands of all time. You ever heard of Queen?"

"Who?"

"Oh my god you need my help," Sam said playfully, running a hand down his face. Bucky's lips quirked up ever so slightly.

At first he was okay. The constant influx of content kept him busy and his mind occupied. But he soon fell into a rut. Pacing the floor, he'd listen to his favorite songs Sam had shown him along with some new ones. Stare out the windows feeling empty, longing for society to pick up again. After watching a movie or two, he'd get fidgety and need to move about. He really enjoyed binging shows though. They sucked him into their world and wouldn't let go. Maybe because it was so different than what he had growing up. Thankfully they both knew to stay away from anything war themed or that might trigger his PTSD. But he'll be damned if he hadn't been completely obsessed with Breaking Bad.

But there were so many options, so many shows to watch that it was overwhelming. With so many things to pick, how could he choose? And out of the movies and shows, and the genres within those categories, it was simply impossible. And so he would cycle through in search of something to watch, only to come up empty handed. Things got better when he stopped trying to decide and let Sam pick for him. Sam really knew what's best.

God if he wasn't here, Bucky would actually go insane. He catches himself staring at the man even more now. Glancing out of the corner of his eye or full on staring, he just can't stop looking at him. He liked to keep his hair cut short, shaved down close to his head. His facial hair was neatly trimmed, the lines always smooth and precise and framed his mouth perfectly. His smile was so fucking bright it was almost blinding. That smile made his days better, and he tried to be less of an ass, just to see it more often. And his lips were full and soft, and he wanted so badly to be able to kiss them. His eyes were a gorgeous shade of dark chocolate, and you could get lost in them if you weren't careful. You could find yourself falling into them, deeper and deeper with no way out. Back when they were first shut in together, he remembers Sam playing the song Brown Eyed Girl. They had smiled as they listened to it, then slowly, began to dance along. That was when he knew he preferred himself a brown eyed man instead.

They were supposed to be watching some old scary movie that Sam claimed to be a classic. Had even said it was one of the most popular ones of all time, but he thought it was just plain boring and ended up watching the man beside him more than the screen. I mean, what was thrilling about a man in a hockey mask hiding in the bushes trying to kill teens? To him it was just lame, and no amount of fake blood could change that. Sam, as always, picked up on his mood.

"What, you don't like it?" Sam asked. Bucky jumped at his words and tore his eyes away from him, looking back at the movie.

"I never said that."

Sam shrugged, "Well you seem to be watching me more than the show." Bucky's face lit up a slight pink and his eyes widened slightly, not realizing he'd been caught so easily. Sam chuckled and bumped their shoulders together. "It's okay, I don't mind," he said to help ease his conscience. "But we can watch something else if you don't like it. Or we can do something else, I don't mind."

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah I'm not really into this," he admitted.

"Alright, no problem," Sam said. "You want me to pick, or do you want to choose something?" Bucky snorted, crossing his arms.

"Seeing as you picked this shitter, maybe I should be the one to pick the next one," he teased, snatching the remote. "What was that one Disney movie you told me about? The one where dogs eat spaghetti?"

"Oh so suddenly my choices in movies are good again."

"Just shut up and tell me what it's called."

"Well I can't do both," Sam joked. Bucky's mouth hung open in a shocked smile that he tried to mask as offense.

"Just tell me the name smart ass," he demanded. Sam was fighting back his snickers as he answered, "Dogs eat spaghetti."

"Dude I know that's not it!" he cried out.

"Yeah but you don't know what it's actually called!" he laughed, having fun withholding the information.

Bucky didn't mention that he just remembered the name of the movie. Instead he steadied him with a look. "Tell me, or else," he said with a playful growl.

Sam wasn't deterred in the slightest. He puffed out his chest as he said, "Make me."

Bucky grinned, wide with a hint of evil. "Oh I plan to." And then he pounced, pinning Sam down on the couch. He immediately started squirming as soon as fingers collided with his sides. His laughter soon followed. Bucky was completely entranced.

Sam threw his head back, allowing the laughter to flow freely from his mouth. He brought his knees up to his chest in a ball as he rocked from side to side, occasionally batting Bucky's hands away. "Dahahahamnit Bahaharns!"

"You know what you have to do to make it stop," he taunted. His hands journeyed up to dig into his armpits, making his laughter jump higher.

"SHIT NO NOT THERE!" he shouted, feeling his fingers scratch at the hollows. He squeezed his eyes shut as he cackled, completely unable to make the sensations stop. Bucky had a devious idea and bent down, blowing a wet raspberry against his neck. Sam squealed before dissolving into hysterical giggles.

"Nohohoho okay! Ohohokahay, I give! Ihi'll tehehell you!" Bucky continued the tickling for a second longer before backing off to let him breathe. Sam gasped in some much needed air. "Lady and the Tramp," he admitted. "It's Lady and the Tramp."

Bucky's smirk got even wider. "I know." Sam's eyes flew open and he glared at the other man. "What?"

Bucky shrugged his shoulders, "I remembered."

"Oh you little shit!" Sam cried, smacking his arm, making him laugh. "Now it's your turn!" Bucky stopped laughing, feeling butterflies begin to flutter in his stomach.

"Huh?" As soon as the question left his lips he felt Sam's body collide with his own as he was tackled. He held his arms in front of him to shield himself, giddy giggles already bubbling up in his throat.

"You didn't think I'd let you just get away with that," Sam teased, leaning closer. Bucky subconsciously scrunched his neck.

"Actually I kinda did."

Sam smiled, hovering his hands over his stomach with wiggling fingers. "Then you deserve everything you're gonna get."

"Nohohohooo," he whined, knowing exactly what was to come. Sam made sure to keep his fingers a few inches above his stomach to keep him on edge. When he finally descended, he clawed into the muscle and vibrated his hands into the flesh. Bucky tried to hold his laughter back, he really did. But as soon as he saw the twinkle in his eyes and the goofy smile, he couldn't help the giggles that slipped out.

"Wow, you're more ticklish than you look," Sam commented. Bucky's face scrunched in confusion and embarrassment.

"Thahahank you?" It came out more as a question than a statement, and Sam had to fight the physical urge to aawww.

He moved on to his sides, squeezing up and down. His laugh became a deeper, more full sound. He grabbed onto Sam's wrists, but didn't bother pushing away. Instead it felt as though he was pulling him closer... He decided to make a mental note of that for later use.

He decided to drill his thumbs into his hips, making him buck and thrash wildly. Sam chuckled, "Is this how you got your nickname? 'Cause you buck like a wild bronco when tickled?" Bucky's cheeks grew darker at the question.

"Fuhuhuck you!" Sam gasped, never pausing in his work.

"How rude! And here I was just trying to strike up a friendly conversation!" He scratched along his waistline, drawing out mad cackles that left Bucky breathless. Sam was having the time of his life. "Who knew you could make so many sounds," he teased.

Bucky shook his head back and forth. "Juhuhust shuhut up!" Sam cocked his head to the side in a quizzical manner.

"Why? Does it make it worse?" When he didn't answer and only whined in response, Sam grinned wider. "I'll take that as a yes."

"You're sohoho mehehean!" he called out, unable to fight back, not that he really wanted to.

"Yeah? And you're cute when you blush," Sam barely realized he had even said it. It just slipped out and couldn't be taken back. Luckily the only affect his words had was darkening the already red blush. Bucky threw a hand up to hide his face as he giggled through his fingers.

"Nu uh, no hiding," Sam said, tickling under his arm and bringing it crashing down. His other hand trailed farther down, squeezing his thighs. Bucky actually screamed, his laughter hitting a whole new range. Encouraged by the new reactions, Sam brought his other hand lower. Bucky snorted when he squeezed the side of his leg, close to his knees. Sam raised his brows, an evil grin plastered on his face.

"Oh, is this a bad spot?" He skittered his fingers over his thighs, the thin sweatpants doing nothing to protect him. His eyes were squinted shut and his mouth hung open as loud laughter poured free. Sam moves to scratch the backs of Bucky's knees, making him snort once more.

"Nononono plehehehease!" Bucky pleaded.

"I'll take that as a yes," Sam chuckled. He raked his nails down the back of his knees, and Bucky practically screamed. He slammed his knees to his chest, which subsequently pushed Sam forward as well. He lost his balance and lurched towards him, catching himself by bracing his fall with his hands on each side of Bucky's head. They both froze, staring into each other's eyes. Bucky's laughter started to die down, his eyes glistening with unshed mirthful tears.

"You okay?" Sam asked, wanting to make sure he didn't go too far. Bucky nodded.

"Yeah, I'm good." Sam hadn't seen him smile like this in months, and it warmed his heart. "I, I needed that," he admitted. Sam smiled softly, the expression on his face could only be described as pure adoration.

"I'm glad to hear that." There was a beat where it was silent. And again, without thinking, Sam acted. He found himself leaning down and couldn't stop. It was as though time itself had slowed. And then in a rush, Bucky sat up and locked their lips together. They kissed for a moment before Bucky pulled away, still catching his breath.

"Still wanna watch that movie?"

Sam nodded and they cuddled next to each other on the couch. Bucky had an arm around his shoulders as Sam rested his head on his chest. The movie started. And if Sam was drawing lazy, tickly shapes into his side, Bucky didn't complain. Only would huff out a laugh every once in a while, squirming into the touch.

The earth may not be in a good place right now, but she will heal. Bucky was sure of it.

#bucky barnes #sam wilson #avengers #quarantine fic #avengers fic #avengers tickle fic #winterfalcon #winterfalcon fic #ticklish!sam #ticklish!bucky

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afreakingdork · 3 years

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Jessica Jones Season 3 A.K.A. Morality

I genuinely believe that the writers of Jessica Jones season 3 have no idea what morality is supposed to mean or how it applies to basic situations. We can start on this, of course, with the friction between Trish and Jessica. The series starts with Jessica doing everything she can to keep ties severed with Trish, while Trish tries in vain to chase Jessica down like a puppy so they can ‘team-up’ like old-new times with Trish’s shiny new powers. Episode 2, “ A.K.A You're Welcome,” paints a more full picture by showing Trish’s side of the conversation. Overall, the whole thing falls so flat for a variety of reasons. I can applaud Trish’s dedication to really honing her craft, but even this is something she tries to hold over Jessica. She offhandedly remarks that Jessica could train once in a while and hints often at her inferred superiority because she actually wants to be super, or she has the right attitude to be super, or she has the actual drive to be super. All of which, paired with Rachael Taylor’s insufferable acting, makes seeing Trish feel like nails on chalkboard every single time. Trish doesn’t understand that her store bought powers and being a hero aren’t something to play around with or have moral superiority about, but she refuses to listen to anyone or even reason. It’s mind boggling because while, we know Trish has always been jealous of Jessica’s power, she of all people should know about what Jessica has been through. They were sisters against the world their whole lives, Jessica doing her best to protect and support Trish from her mother’s abuse and Trish full well knowing Jessica is basically alone in this world, not to mention all the time and everything else that she lost to Kilgrave. Jessica is a wounded soul and her powers have everything to do with that, but all that just goes out the window because Trish wants powers and Trish thinks she knows better and the show is happy to say both Trish and Jess are equally bad. Even in the end when Trish finally realizes she is the bad guy, she has to go off the deep-end and then even further into the pool before the show will even let her admit it and then it gives no time for the weight of this statement to take affect and instead just moves on.

However, let’s move back to respective family histories, there’s a line that really enraged me in episode 5, “A.K.A I Wish,” where Gillian says “I'm sick of people throwing away friends and family like there's plenty more where that came from,” because Trish and Jessica won’t talk out their issues. There are some things that you can’t come back from with family and friends, especially when they aren’t willing to move their opinions on it. There are plenty more people that you can become friends with or even make your new family (it’s called found family and is huge especially in comic books) because it’s insanely toxic to stick with someone just because you’re related to them or have been friends for a long time. It’s really hard to play along with this sentiment, especially when in episode 6, “A.K.A Sorry Face,” you have Trish and her mom, Dorothy, really go head to head about Dorothy’s abuse towards Trish. Trish’s whole life has been shaped by her mother’s abuse. She never had a moment to think for herself because Dorothy was always controlling every second of it and it was the reason Trish has resorted to drug use and relapsed multiple times, but the moment Trish, justifiably so, tries to mention this her mother flips out and still has the gall to make it about herself. When Dorothy storms out you can see that from Trish’s weak attempts to roll back on it, again a completely justifiable comment, that the show thinks that Trish is in the wrong here. Sure, Dorothy’s points on Trish’s flippant attitude towards her own safety were, in my opinion, needed; Trish is heading down an insane path where all she can see is the glory of supering and can’t see how dangerous or miserable it is (which is crazy because she’s been Jessica’s sister basically their whole lives and seen all the horrific shit Jessica has had to go through, but I’ll get to that later). Good and bad aren’t so black and white, and this show refuses to play with that. Just because Dorothy and Trish have the most precariously stable relationship now, doesn’t mean Trish isn’t still allowed to be upset about the lifetime of verbal and physical abuse she’s had to endure.

When you compare that matter to Trish telling Jessica that she needs to get over being upset that she shot her mom, it adds a whole new layer of ‘what the actual fuck?!’ to Trish that the story isn’t particularly interested in delving into. The story seemingly wants you to agree that both Jessica and Trish are equally at fault for what’s happening. Jessica is being too callous and gatekeeping Trish, while Trish is acting rogue and playing like being super is fun. It’s insane because we see Jessica already struggling with her mother’s influence. She was already destroying herself in season 2 because her mother was evil, but also she was the last vestige of her family who still happened to be alive. In her last moments, Alisa was going to turn herself in to the police and imparts on Jessica that being a hero is worth it. It’s almost comical looking back on it now, seeing how holier-than-thou Trish has become, and knowing that she shot Jessica’s mother in cold blood because she believes it was right. Sure, Jessica doesn’t seem to have told Trish the full details of her mother’s turn in those final moments. The show fails morality yet again, when even the question comes up in conversation between Jessica and Trish, Jessica only goes so far as to say ‘it was my mother.’ Jessica completely neglects to mention that her mother turned good in her last days after getting a taste of heroics and instead plays the ‘she was my family and you didn’t give me a choice in whether or not I should keep them’ card, that makes no sense to the total overarching argument to who is in the moral right. You can say that Jessica is a terrible negotiator when it comes to getting her point across verbally, and you’d be right, but that isn’t what the show is trying to illustrate and it’s beyond irritating.

This piss poor morality spread and infects other characters in season 3 also. We have the manifestation of morality with the introduction of Erik, who gets a physical response to evil. Nothing has bothered me more than when Malcolm scores a 3 on Erik’s bad-o-meter. Malcolm is grappling with the bad things he has done for Jeri because he thought he could justify it with the money and experience he would get now to fund him fighting for justice later, but even that wasn’t enough. Long before Erik pinged Malcolm as bad, Malcolm was already trying to atone for what he had done, physically might I add, he should have gone to the hospital for peeing blood after getting in a car accident to get a drunk driver off the streets. It makes Malcolm physically and mentally ill and he even takes time off work to consider his position and this is the moment that he pings a 3 (and, not to mention, Trish doesn’t ping at all)!? How can someone who feels guilt, knowns what he’s doing is wrong, and even takes a break to take a look at himself ping at all on the scale when Jessica is supposedly so good that she is anti-bad-dar for Erik and acts like aspirin for his bad guy headaches?! To add insult to injury, Malcolm cheats on Zaya with Berry because he’s... struggling with maybe becoming evil for some reason, but only long enough for him to immediately roll back and work as a double agent for Jeri so he can actually help Jessica put Sallinger away. Even that is short lived, when he just comes clean and quits to clear his conscience and starts to atone. It’s like the show realized that the tension between Malcolm and Zaya wasn’t enough of a morality issue and they had to have Malcolm do something extra bad to justify, again, that both parties are equally wrong in the matter. In the end though, they end up just reinforcing multiple times that Malcolm was the bad guy and Zaya never had an issue. Progression is a good thing, right?

Malcolm and Zaya are at each other on the ethics of lawyering, something that was handled much better in Daredevil and even that show had it’s faults, but nothing will enrage me more than Jeri’s line in episode 7, “A.K.A The Double Half-Wappinger,” of “...it is not our job to assess guilt or innocence.” While that is technically correct, there is a huge glaring problem with how the show is using it. The show is obsessed with the alleged portion of Sallinger’s guilt, in that he is so smart he leaves no evidence behind and is always multiple steps ahead of investigators trying to find a mistake on his trail. Only criminal defense attorneys do not decide if the client is innocent or guilty. While that is Jeri’s position as Sallinger’s attorney, this type of attorney's concern is whether there is sufficient evidence to prove that someone has committed a crime since the jury or judge will be the one’s actually deciding the verdict. The thing is, especially based on her past history with Jessica, is Jeri does have this information, albeit not as evidence, but she still tries to proceed as if Sallinger is still innocent until proven guilty. It’s a complete implosion of Jeri’s character when she already is grappling with everything falling apart with her ALS and Kith. It’s mind boggling to think this is the same Jeri who entrusted Jessica in episode 1, “A.K.A The Perfect Burger,” to take her life when she can no longer make the choice herself due to her illness. Jeri then goes on to declare war on superheroes, for what? Short term retainer of Sallinger could distinguish her firm from it’s accused ties to powered people, but long term she knows he is in truth a serial killer and having taken his case knowing so will destroy her firm a million times more than Peter Lyonne’s suicidal statement ever did. She feels like supers are undermining her as if Jessica is trying to take advantage of her ALS and make her look weak? This is a far cry from the Jeri Hogarth that was accused of murdering her first wife or the Jeri Hogarth that was ten steps ahead to blackmail her partners from trying to force her out of the firm she helped build and get her fair share. This isn’t the Jeri we love to hate, this is just hatred to put more pressure on Sallinger’s inane hatred of super people. She’s somehow, even though she never showed interest and expressively talked back to him when he was spouting his drivel, bought into the weaker man philosophy of supers having cheated to better positions in life and has, in her mind, made her whole existence of failures hinged on them trying to make her feel weak. An unfathomable turn for her character indeed, but this is a show that thinks that digging up dirt on someone and releasing it to try to get with their wife is equivalent at all to a man pushing his wife into an open marriage to cheat and skimming money out of their dead daughter’s non-profit foundation. Jeri should have told Kith no question. I don’t think she should have done it the way she did or for the reasons she did, but we are operating on a 20% bad scale vs. an 80% bad scale. Also, Peter Lyonne was such a shithead that he would rather kill himself and blame Jeri in the process than deal with a little jail time for being a fuckface. Crying that he should have had his chance to tell Kith like he was planning on it. Through Laurent they insinuate that the show absolutely makes Jeri out to be the monster in that situation. It honestly makes me think these writers need to take a course of morality or even just watch a few episodes of The Good Place so maybe they could have a real actual human opinion on what is good and bad. I’m worried about them.

#me #review #tv show review #jessica jones #jessica jones season 3 #morality

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anciientboosh · 4 years

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My prompts are typically garbage, but here’s one anyway if you’d like! Vince feels like he’s running through his fancy shampoo more quickly than he should. He doesn’t know where it’s going until he notices Howard walking around with newly luxuriant curls. And his outfit isn’t as terrible as usual. What’s going on??

Hello friend! Thank you so much for helping me keep entertained on my travels! Here is a lovely soft and sweet ficlet for you, I hope you enjoy!

Something is amiss.

Which, by its very nature, is something Vince has come to expect of his daily life. Arguably it would be more unusual for everything to be running smoothly around here.

But the contextual clues of the past few days are adding up to some very bad juju.

It starts with a rapidly depleting bottle of shampoo. To most, not the kind of thing that would even click as suspicious, but this is Vince Noir's shampoo. A concoction of fruit scented hair Potion that costs him most of his monthly pay packet to supply himself with; and thus, something he ensures he uses stringently.

Vince knows exactly how long it takes him to get through one bottle. It's frankly one of the precious few things in his existence he manages to be anal-retentive about.

So, of course, when he reaches for the bottle nine days into a twenty-one day cycle and finds the weight of it considerably lighter than it should be. It is the first step down a path of suspicion that can only lead to terrible things.

The next piece of this wet jigsaw puzzle comes with Howard's altered appearance.

It isn't even what most would consider a large difference. But to Vince it's like the man had shaved his head and begun wearing neon leg-warmers and tank tops and calling himself Moonbeam. Its jarring, and obvious.

Howard's curls are styled.

He notices one lazy Sunday morning as the older man potters about the kitchen sorting them some breakfast. Usually, Howard's shampoo was cheap and bought in bulk and basically, left his hair sort of-- in the nicest way possible-- horrifically unstylable. The brown ringlets often had a mind of their own, and at this length, never looked washed anyway so Howard never took the trouble.

But on this Sunday morning? They're radiant. Catching the soft morning light. Curled delicately round his ears and dipping over his forehead. Vince all at once wants to sink his fingers into them and pull but he can't-- not least because they may be at a place where affection is coming naturally and sometimes they might kiss each other or share a cheeky touch… they still haven't actually said what they are yet-- because his suspicion just ramped up another level.

Was Howard using his shampoo?

There isn't even the chance to ask. He's too soon distracted by a crimp and a delicious meal that his hyperactive brain loses the will to hold on to such things as paranoia and worry. It can be tackled later.

Later happens the following morning when Vince is watching Howard dress. Not in a creepy way, they share a bedroom for God's sake, but in a soft affectionate way. After being brave enough to slide under Vince's sheets this morning and press kisses to his cheeks and forehead Howard is vibrating with proud energy and its nice to witness.

Right up until he pull a shirt from his wardrobe and ruins it.

It's not patterned. It's not even a horrific colour. It's just a plain, quite stylish, button down that Vince remembers buying him years ago in the hopes of kick-starting a wardrobe revamp.

Except watching him pull it on now does nothing but make him feel disoriented.

Howard smiles at him, practically skips his way from the bedroom. Vince stays where he is just a moment longer, mentally trying to force the misshapen pieces of this conundrum together before the only logical solution springs at him from nowhere.

Howard's been replaced by aliens.

Armed with this knowledge, Vince for goes dressing properly in order to rush downstairs to the shop and confront their intruder. Pyjamas isn't ideal alien fighting apparel but needs must when you've got to rescue your best friend.

And as if it couldn't get any worse, what he sees has him stumbling down the last few steps ungracefully.

Howard is at the counter as expected. But in front of him sits a white paper bag that would normally set Vince off like an excited puppy. Topman. Howard's reaching into a bag from Topman.

He's pulling out jeans. Actual denim. Jeans.

It's the straw that breaks Vince's back.

"Alright, you fashionable freak," He cries, Iwad jolts with his shock and drops the denim to the shop floor. "What've you done with my Howard?"

"Wha-- your Howard?"

"I swear if you've hurt 'im I'll kick your teeth in," The threat is enough to have maybe Howard's hands hooting up in a display of his innocence. "Then I'll get my shaman mate to curse you!"

"Vince, you've gone wrong." Howard's hands drop to his sides once more. Apparently no longer threatened by Vince's over display of anger. "It's me, I'm Howard."

"No you're not."

"Yes. I am."

"Howard doesn't use my shampoo!" With the renewed annoyance of this accusation, Vince takes a solid step forward; a smug sense of pleasure twists in his gut to see the imposter take one back in response. His back hits the shelves with a noisy thud. "He reckons it's like washin' his hair with fruit juice. And my Howard wouldn't be caught dead in Topman-- he definitely wouldn't buy jeans. If he tried to put jeans on he'd dissolve into a puddle of beige fabric." The whole rant is rounded off with Vince stamping his foot like an angry toddler. "So tell me where he is."

Amusement is twisting on Howard's features, soft in its nature and endlessly affectionate. "You daft tart," He utters warmly. "It is me."

"Prove it, then."

"Remember when we were 14 and I caught you with that poster of--"

"Alright!" Where Vince's arms had previously been crossed over his chest defiantly, he now reaches out to shove gently at Howard's larger frame in warning. "Alright, you said you'd never bring that up again."

Howard shrugs casually at him; cocks a brow as if silently asking him what else he was supposed to do. Vince isn't dwelling on that, though, he is much too preoccupied seeking out answers to this bizarre few days of Howard transformation. "What's goin' on then?"

The panic may have left Vince's frame but it creeps up Howard's now. His shoulders tense, his eyes dart away, the soft curves of his cheeks turn pink with his embarrassment. All it does is add to Vince's gathering confusion. "Howard?"

With a deep breath-- all his bravery existing in that one action-- Howard admits, "I thought it would help." No further elaboration comes until Vince makes a point to cock his head to the side like a curious puppy. "With us. You know, our-- you like a certain look."

"What?" Vince exclaims on a laugh.

"I've seen your type, Vince, and it's not me, is it?" Howard still hasn't looked at him. Prefers muttering his truth to the floor. "I thought if I looked more like the people you normally fancy we might be able to--"

"You idiot." Vince declares confidently. Startled, Howard stares up at him with wide eyes. "Utter lunatic, are you insane? Howard I fancy you not the clothes you wear."

Howard continues to do nothing but blink owlishly at him.

"Bloody hell, all of this was for me?" A nod. "Oh, Howard. Look I think your fashion sense is rubbish but it's yours. That's who you are, I'm not gonna change you. I don't want to, and I don't want you to want to change yourself either."

"Really?"

"Really." Vince takes a confident step forward, tosses his arms around Howard shoulders. "Can't promise I won't make fun of how you dress but that doesn't mean I actually want you to be different. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Well all the jokes but," Howard hesitates over his answer, eyes flashing with discomfort. "But when I asked Leroy he said--"

"Leroy?" Vince rolls his eyes. "Don't be taking dating advice from Leroy, that man had an affair with a succulent once."

Howard snickers; finds it in himself to wrap his hands about Vince's waist and tug him into an embrace. "Does this mean that we're...?"

"Boyfriends? Sure. But only if you go and take this mess off and put something normal on for God's sake."

"Fine. Drama queen." With an affectionate peck to his forehead, Howard starts for the stairs.

"Oh and Howard?" Vince calls sweetly, Howard paused at the bottom step. "You ever use my shampoo again and you can kiss goodbye to your rare jazz collection."

#You guys have een amazing with this I got so many!#Rest assured in still travelling and I'm still working my way through them #And thank you so much iococo for this amazing prompt #Lovely bit of fluff and soft boys for you #My writing #Travelling drabbles #Howince #Howard moon #Vince noir #the mighty boosh #mighty boosh

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cozycryptidcorner · 5 years

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Chapter Five

???? After Arrival

Your mouth is dry.

It hurts to swallow, but doing so is a habit that your body cannot break. So you go through the motions even with the pain, the tongue pressing up against the roof of your mouth, the muscles in your cheeks trying to push the thick, almost nonexistent saliva down into your raw throat. The stone of the floor is cool against your feverish skin, trying to ignore the way little rocks and grit dig into your cheek. Every breath you take is ragged and weak, the hunger penetrating through your muscles and into your very bones. If you had the emotional energy, you might try to cough up a few tears to cry, but you feel nothing other than a grim determination to succeed.

If he wanted you dead, he would have killed you right where you had stood, braced to run, even when you knew it was futile. He could have plucked out your heart and watched you with those soulless black eyes as you bled out on the floor, crying for a deity who couldn’t be bothered to answer your tearful prayers.

A panel on the door opens, and you hear the quiet tsk tsk of a disapproving servant as she reaches in and retrieves your untouched meal tray.

“You must keep your strength up, kore,” she says, but you don’t answer.

Now

There’s buzzing flare in the top of your skull, right on the edge of your brain. It reminds you kind of those headaches you would get if you forgot to drink through an entire day, a dull, throbbing thing that threatens to grow even stronger if there isn’t a quick solution. Your lips are getting cracked from having to breath out of your mouth, your nose stuffed up from a variety of different things. Dust, probably, for one, but maybe also the fact that you’re trying not to cry, though your eyes are still tearing up, and since they aren’t escaping normally, they’re just slipping back into your body running out your nose.

“Should I call for a doctor?”

You almost start at his voice, though it’s not like you just forgot the prince’s presence, especially not with the way that he gently plays with your hair. The idea of having to see someone else who is just as unfamiliar right now as everything else feels just as unwanted as the aching in your joints. “I’d rather not, no.”

“Would you rather go to bed?”

You mull the idea over, squinting at the light despite its dimness. Yes, you want to go to bed, you decide, but then immediately wonder if the prince was going to follow you to your room. While casual murder might be his mode of operation, he doesn’t seem to be the type to do that, so you don’t think you have to worry about being alone with him in an enclosed space. Even though you are pretty confident that there isn’t any incriminated evidence that’s currently out, to have him in there, potentially poking around, you aren’t so sold on that idea.

On the other hand, though, isn’t the welcome dinner that you obviously aren’t even thinking about going to happening tonight? The one where you aren’t planning to spy on the goings-on just to get a taste of the political strife happening all around the underground palace? Maybe if you go to bed, he’ll get out of your way quickly so you can do some internal investigating. Or perhaps he’ll stick around for a little longer than anticipated, running the risk of something slipping, either out of you or out of your personal belongings.

Hell, you’re not one to back away from risk. “Yes.”

He helps you up, doing most of the muscle work since your knees don’t want to do their job. You almost stumble into him, grabbing onto one of his smooth, thin legs for support. Instead of seeming uncomfortable or put off in the slightest, he asks, “are you alright to walk?”

You grit your teeth because you aren’t going to fold this quickly into being dependant on someone for something, even as small as letting him carry you to the bedroom. Goddamnit, you’re going to make this walk yourself or die trying. “I’m good, I just-

Your vision spots out.

The light glares down at your eyes, far harsher than you are ready for when you open them. The bed you lay on is thin, barely wide enough to keep your limbs from flopping off as long as they stay perfectly straight and unbent. Unfortunately, your clothes are gone, replaced by a dull brown dress, long and straight, and judging by the coolness running along your spine, loosely tied, if not all the way open, at the back. Talking, there’s talking happening somewhere to the side, tense, worried words shooting back and forth between two… maybe three people.

“She should have been checked in when she first arrived.”

“I sent her the notifs based on her contact info, and even went so far as to try to get her assistant involved, but the damn machine stopped all responses yesterday-”

“You should have told me.”

“Of- of course, keias, a thousand apologies, you’re absolutely right. It won’t happen again.”

“It won’t, you are very correct.”

You sit up, terrified that this might end in bloodshed if you listlessly eavesdrop even more than you already have. Big mistake, you discover, as a sharp punch drills through your skull, your fingers shooting up to press against your temples, and then you whimper. You don’t mean to do that, in fact, the moment the sound resonated through your body, you make it stop, your lungs shaking with the effort, but the damage is already done. As much as you like capitalizing on those who underestimate you, outwardly showing weakness? Not your style, not at all, so you take in a gulping breath and hold it.

“Do something!” The prince is at your side, how did he end up there so fast? “She is in pain, fix it.”

“Of course, sire, one moment, and I’ll get out-”

“I don’t care to hear the specifics.” His hands fold over yours, adding a smidgen of pressure that actually eases the pain somewhat. “Get it done.”

A sharp, small pinch nicks the side of your neck, a crisp, palming feeling quickly running through your veins, overwhelming the pain like a tidal wave. It doesn’t go away, though, merely… sinks to the back, while whatever settles in your blood overshadows it significantly. Slowly, you open your eyes, your breath calming, your muscles relaxing, finding the prince barely a few inches away, the closest he has been physically, ever. The lights dull slightly, did the doctor turn those down for you? Everything looks like there’s some sort of halo of energy around everything, and the prince seems to fizzle with it. You need to touch it, actually, so you reach out and place your fingers against his forehead.

“Hey there,” you say, your head feeling wayyyyyyyyyyyyy lighter than usual.

“What was that?” The prince says in his grumpy shlumpy voice, looking over at a tall, thin figure that you can’t quite make out.

“A numbing agent, keias,” the other person says, “fast-acting but not without its side effects. She will be back to normal within a few hours, which is plenty of time to find a better long term solution.”

“Side effects?” The prince says as you pet the side of his ridiculously smooth face.

“Well,” the doctor gestures in your general direction, “it doesn’t just dull the pain receptors in the brain; unfortunately, it also dulls everything else. Her hand-eye coordination is off, her balance is warped, and her ability to sense dangerous situations is significantly lower than what it normally is. Relatively speaking, sire, she’s drunk.”

You snort, turning over in the direction the blobby spot in your vision is speaking. “Excuse you, but a milliliter of whatever isn’t going to do anything to me, bud, I once drank an entire bottle of Moseranian aged wine, and I may not remember that night, but I survived, so,” you shrug, waving your hands, “I’d like to see you do that and come out with your liver intact.”

“Like I said, keias, she’s not in a normal state of mind at the moment,” the doctor says, and then adds, almost dubiously, “she might also be more likely to answer any questions truthfully.”

“Leave.” The prince doesn’t turn around to give the order; rather, he seems far more focused on you than he has been in a long while. “Find something to help that’s more than whatever this is.”

“Of course, sire.” A door opens and closes with the doctor’s exit, leaving the two of you alone.

You pat his head. “I’ve always wanted to touch your hair, it always seemed so nice and silky, like-” you giggle, “no offense, but like a spider’s web.”

“A spider’s web,” the prince repeats, his eyes squinting, his head tilting to the side. “Spiders are common creatures where you are from?”

“Yeah, even more than rats or other pests. Mining stations are great for them because I guess space lice is a good source of food, and they don’t need to breathe too much air, so if they get accidentally locked in a no-air zone, they’re more likely to survive. The little guys were a real problem where I came from.” You giggle, switching over your wrist so he could see a bite mark on the underside of your forearm. “I got bit by a blue recluse once.”

He reaches out, taking your arm into his hands so he can take a more intimate look at it. “And the... blue recluse, are they poisonous?”

“Oh, yeah, horrifically so.” You wave your other hand, laughing it off. “I almost died, but whatever.”

A puff of breath escapes from him, you can’t tell if he’s laughing with you or exasperated. He lifts your hand up to his mouth and kisses the heel of your wrist. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”

You don’t answer.

“I suppose, then, what I really wish to know is how you handle the drider species as a whole,” he says, “I understand the similarities between spiders and us are rather, er, distastefully similar.”

“I mean, the eight legs. Yeah.”

“Do you find me hideous?”

You balk, sure that you heard him wrong. “I- do I what?”

“Do you find my appearance unnerving?” He asks. “I understand that spiders tend are disconcerting to your kind, though with good evolutionary reason.”

“Weeeeeeeelllll I wouldn’t say hideous. Or disconcerting. And I don’t think it’s because of the spider legs, maybe it’s because of how….” you forget the word, trying to mime it with your hand. “Um, seismic isn’t what I mean, uh… big? Kind of. You take up space, and that makes me nervous.”

“I see.”

You can’t tell if he’s disappointed in you, and no, don’t want that, so you try to clear up what you mean. “Most other people I know have been threats,” you say, “on the mining colony and, um, as a pilot, but I’ve always been able to somehow rise above the game and walk out scotch free. But I don’t know you, ok? I like knowing things because then I’d find ways to get out of a situation if stuff blows up, and I don’t really know you, except that you could kill me far easier than I could kill you. I don’t like that.”

The prince hums, a bit thoughtfully, reaching over and brushing some stray hair strands that had fallen in your face without you noticing. The brightness in the lighting suddenly changes, the electricity humming in your ears like a solar mite. “That is understandable.”

“It’s all unfamiliar.” You squint at the fluctuating lighting in the room. “And the expectations of everyone is worse than…” you trail off, tightening your mouth in the realization that you might have let out more than you should have.

“The expectations of what.” The prince’s body stiffens considerably, his hands no longer holding onto your kindly. They’re holding onto you like he is about to see how much pressure you can withstand before your bones start cracking.

“The- the-” lie, lie, lie, a voice in your head hisses urgently. Clear everything out. Mislead, but don’t speak anything false you can’t remember. “You don’t think the match of the supposed insane heir of Lolth, the biggest player in the opposing force in a war, isn’t going to turn many heads? The Matchmakers aren’t even the ones to sit me down to go over everything like their protocol demands. Someone leaked the information to the press. I woke up one day to everyone, the military, the civic government, and all news companies within the quadrant trying to break their way into my ship.”

Everything melts again, his expression softening, his fingers resuming to tracing the scars from various mishaps on your bare arms. “The Matchmakers weren’t even able to reveal anything to you?”

“You didn’t know?” You fold your arms around yourself. “Headline news every single day from when the info leaked to when we entered the censor barrier, but I don’t doubt it’s still circulating even now.”

“I did not.” He sounds far away, deep in thought. “No one- no one dared to hurt you, did they?”

You think of the sparring sessions where Clementine tended to go really hard without any reason other than the thrill of the fight, and then the representative that favored pain as an effective method of teaching. “Torture? No, there wasn’t any torturing. It’s not like I would magically know anything more than the average person just because I was matched with you. There were...”

“There were what?”

“Ummmm, like deals. Offers. Big corporations that wanted a foothold in this territory. I didn’t get much more than a few contract messages before Starward Matchmakers cut off all contact from the outside so I could, um, ‘focus on integrating into Lolth’s society’,” you use air quotes there, rolling your eyes. “I just think they’re worried they might not be the only intermedial and supposedly neutral presence in both sides- your eyes, by the way? Are really, very pretty. Like kaleidoscope colors, but without the kaleidoscope.” You reach out, then stop, remembering it’s probably not a good idea to poke one of his eyeballs.

He doesn’t shy away from the aggressive hand gestures, only creeps slightly closer. “Surely the presence of the representative helps you now? With acclimating?”

“Uh,” is this like… a test? Does he want you to tell him what’s happened? You start playing with the end of your hospital dress, tugging at the threads along the hem, trying to come up with the words to play this in your favor. “She’s been infected with a virus.”

“I didn’t think people of her caliber got sick.”

You let out a frustrated sigh. “No, no, an electric virus, like someone from the outside has managed to hack into her internal functions? People do it for corporate espionage, like, all the damn time.” When he appears to be absorbing the information as though it’s brand spanking new, you add, almost hesitantly, “didn’t you know about this?”

“No,” he says, calm, “I did not. When did this happen?”

“Yesterday she came back, all loopy and stuff. Had to shut her down for a full reboot, but this morning her diagnostics found a foreign programming, like a bug or something.” You yawn, placing your fingers in front of her mouth. “I thought you had something to do with it, so I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought-” he pauses, trying to come up with the words, “that I had something to do with that? Why?”

You shrug weakly, shaking your head. “I don’t know.”

“Do I seem to be the person who-” his voice trails off, his mouth closing sharply. “Have I done anything that made you seem unsafe?”

“No.” Maybe you should stop petting his hair while you talk about how untrustworthy you’ve found him in the last couple of days, but it’s so silky? And shiny? The black almost shimmers in the now-green light, it’s actually kind of fun to play with. “You’ve been way nicer than I’d thought you’d be.”

The prince is silent for a moment more. “How so?”

“Everyone told me that you’d be all rawrrrrrr,” you use your fingers for makeshift mandibles on either side of your mouth, “I’m gonna eat you, little girl, and toast to Satan with your blood, and make cute belts and stuff from your skin and wear your face like a hat! But it turns out you don’t eat orc babies because you believe they will give you strength.”

He stares you dead in the eye. “How do you know that I didn’t feed you orc infants during our first dinner?”

You stare, dumbly, and then you think if you open your eyes any wider, they might fall out of your skull. “Y-y-you did not-”

He laughs, laughs, the sound as relieving and good, you feel the same kind of serene flow as when you first heard real, planet-made rain, a sudden shock at what it is, and then a warm feeling spreading out from your chest and down to your fingertips.

“You were joking? You were joking,” you say, and then you start giggling too because damn, that was kind of funny, despite your initial terror at the thought of infanticide. Your vision sharpens, the shapes and angles of the prince becoming far more vibrant.

The door slides open, and your eyes fall onto the Bloody Doctor of the Kazzanine Run, a tall, thin, and rather gaunt elf holding up a medical tablet, those blackened eyes falling over onto you. On instinct, you grab for the closest thing you might be able to use as a weapon, in this case, the prince’s arm. “Ah,” they say, their voice familiar to you as the other person in the room earlier, “our lovely patient seems lucid enough to participate.”

You swallow thickly, your grip tightening around the prince’s arm as though it’s your only anchor to survival in this situation. “I thought you were dead.”

Indeed, the side of their face that has been hit by the laser blast of a rather resourceful sniper is marred with burn scars and discolored flesh, the corner of their mouth drooping down slightly despite the wickedly curved smile they wear like a painted mask. “Well, well, well, it looks like our favorite human girl has been keeping up with her government’s propaganda. No, I’m afraid that rumors of my demise have been grossly exaggerated.”

“Don’t leave me alone with them,” you whisper, low enough that only the prince will hear, and then slap on a halfhearted, “please.”

“Now, now, young lady,” they say, almost, condescendingly, “I’m here only to keep you alive, as my expertise in your species’ anatomy is not nearly as lacking as friends on Lolth.”

“From fucking experimenting on unwilling test subjects!”

They flick a little vial of liquid with their yellow-tinged finger. “I won’t expect someone like you to agree. with my methods, despite their necessity.”

“I beg your fucking pardon?”

“One day you’ll understand, I’m sure.” They come closer, holding the glass vial out to the prince instead of daring to step into your kicking radius. “Lolth has a way of leaching out your spirit.”

You see, unable to come up with anything that wouldn’t make you seem unseemly, but you are this close to ripping off one of the prince’s golden claws to stab that monster in the throat.

“I apologize a thousand times, sire, but I have yet to find a muscle strengthener dosage, so have her take a drop or two of the inhibitor before bed, this will only help her sleep through the night, staving off any migraine and muscle pain.”

“I didn’t ask for a temporary solution, Nisesh, I asked for something permanent.”

“I understand, keias, but I must respectfully remind you that the tiniest, most minuscule detail could potentially kill her,” they look directly at you, eyes narrow, “so I must request that I take the time that I need in order to make sure everything is properly concocted.”

The prince places a hand on your head, almost in reassurance. “I suggest that you hurry.”

They bow as low as any dog looking for a modicum of approval from its master will bow. “Of course, keias. If I may get started?”

“Do what you have to.”

As that monster leaves, you look at the vial in the prince’s hands, already deciding that you are not going to be taking it under any circumstances, not willing, anyway. Your stomach heats up as the room begins to tilt to the side, you recognize the urge to vomit the second your throat begins to tighten. “I need a bowl.”

“A bowl?”

“Or something, I’m about to throw up.”

You’ve never seen the prince scramble, but he does so now, his legs skittering against the hard metal floor as he flies to the counter on the other side of the room, finding something with enough volume to hold your stomach contents, and returns just in time for you to seize it with both arms. You tilt your head forward as whatever was in your stomach flies out, coughing, spluttering, the bile burning the back of your throat as it shoves its way up. It takes a few moments for you to even manage to pull in a gasping, choking breath before another round ensues. The prince hovers over you, hands out but not touching, unsure if there is anything he can do to help.

“I’m done,” you cough, “and I’m ready to go to bed now.”

“Of- of course,” he says, looking somewhat frazzled for the first time since you’ve met him.

The vomit stays where you hope that elfish abomination will be the one to have to deal with it, but you know there is probably an army of custodians that take care of that sort of thing. You have to change, though, and the prince respectfully steps out of the room while you do so, managing to finagle your arms to pull just enough of the buttons loose enough for the clinic dress’ removal. To be in your clothes again is a relief, the hospital gown made you feel kind of exposed, especially in the face of a war criminal you didn’t think you would ever manage to cross paths with. Your fingers start shaking as you tab the pad on the side of the door, opening it, and try to remain calm as you exit the room.

The prince waits for you to the side, hugging the wall to make himself smaller in case of passing workers. “Do you feel better?”

Your head is still light and fuzzy, but at least you’re able to comprehend that you’re high. Maybe the self-awareness will keep you from doing anything stupid. “A bit, but not fabulous.”

“Perhaps the substance was… unwarranted. Doctor Nisesh tends to be, how would you say it, ‘trigger happy’ when it comes to medications. I should have told them not to do it.”

“Don’t let them do anything to me.”

There is a pause. “You know I wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt you.”

” Do not let them do anything to me.”

The prince gives you a nod. “If you insist, then I shall see if there is another doctor versed in human anatomy available.”

“Good.” Your response is terse, but you don’t have it in you to be polite anymore.

He takes you to a waiting area, one with chairs facing towards two tunnels on opposite sides. On one end, a small, private tramcar waits, apparently for you, because he leads you to the open doors. The inside is plush, cushioned, and just the sort of disgustingly comfortable method of transit that you’d expect the royal family to have. And, since you’re a new addition, you suppose, you’re going to enjoy it, so you bounce onto one of the longer seats and lay your head down on the pillow.

“How long until we get back?”

“A few minutes,” the prince says, “it’s probably better if you rest, though, so if you wish to, then please do.”

“Right,” you say, laying your head down on the pillow, suddenly waking back up in your room.

#exophilia #drider #drider boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster lovers

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hermeticimp · 4 years

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Witchy Then Vs. Now #WakingWitchblr

Hey guys! So, I’ve seen a bunch of posts on witchy things we’ve done as children. I really love the idea and have been meaning to do a post on it for the longest, but I wanted to add a bit of a twist. Instead of just making a list, I want to compare and contrast my childhood witchy things to my practice now. This is definitely something I want to see other people’s takes on as well, so feel free to tag this under the #WakingWitchblr or #WitchyThenVsNow. Without further ado, I’m going to do mine!

Elemental Work

Then: I was super into shows like Shaolin Showdown and Pokemon, which had plenty of abilities that were linked to particular elements. Back then, I found myself very attracted to fire, wishing that I could have the ability to manipulate it. Kimiko was my favorite because of that (besides the fact that she was the only female member of the group). I was also into water pokemon like Squirtle and Staryu. I found it funny when I found out I was a Fire Rat under the Chinese zodiac. Despite knowing that Libra was an air sign, I identified more with the passion and intensity of fire.

Now: I work with all the elements! XD Nah, but seriously, now I see the strengths and weaknesses of each element, then use whichever one or ones work best for the situation. I do a lot of work with fire through candle and sun magic. I work with water via cleansing, water magic, and lunar magic. I use earth when grounding, relaxing, and using crystals and my wooden wand. I use air when I work with the wind, humidifiers/diffusers, and incense. I still love fire, but not so much for the cool factor. I find myself much more aligned to air now, actually. Of course, I now know I’m an air sun, fire moon, and water rising, so that’s entertaining.

Astrology

Then: Speaking of signs, when I first picked up an astrology book in the 3rd grade, I was only aware of sun signs, as most people do when first stepping into the subject. I was fascinated by the different signs and figuring out who was which based on birthday. I would read off sections from books or apps I had and found it hilarious when people freaked out about how accurate things were. In middle school, I started learning about moon and risings signs. It was an interesting experience, but I still focused more on sun signs.

Now: Goodness gracious, I’ve come so far. XD Not to say I’m an expert at all - far from it - but I now understand more about astrology as a whole. I can read a birthchart, I have an astrology mentor, I understand that there are placements for each of the 10 planets. Astrology has become a major aspect of of my craft. I (try to) follow the moon cycles and other transits. I utilize astrology in my divination readings. I’m fascinated by seeing the different ways people express each of their placements and their charts as a whole. I’m a student of astrology (primarily modern and evolutionary) who is always eager to learn more. Soon, I’ll share some of my notes, but not quite yet.

Astronomy

Then: I was super into reading books on space as a child. I often found myself nose deep, learning about galaxies, stars, black holes, meteors, comets, and so on. It wasn’t odd to find me staring up at the stars and Moon whenever I had the chance. I was fascinated by astronomical events, like meteor showers or lunar eclipses. I adored planetariums. I wanted the glow-in-the-dark star stickers on my ceiling like my cousins had. I wanted a constellation projector. I was ecstatic to work on a project regaring Haley’s Comet. Space excited and thrilled me in a way nothing else did.

Now: It’s a shame, but I don’t really focus on space much outside of celestial magic and astrology. Don’t get me wrong, I still find space exciting and I will always have eyes for the Moon and the stars, but I’m not keeping up with the science like I used to. There’s still a sense of affection when I happen to read articles on new discoveries or technology or when I see pictures of the solar system and galaxies. However, my focus is mainly on the movements of the heavenly bodies and how that impacts us. I work with the energy of different planets through associations and timing spells for planetary hours, but that’s about it.

Crystals

Then: Oooh, boy. So I was a major nerd as a kid (if you haven’t caught onto that by now. Honestly still AM. XD), so I adored going on science trips. At museums, it was common to find all kinds of rough crystals for cheap. I thought they were cool. I loved the colors and the feel of them against my fingers. I was drawn to rough rose quartz, amethyst, granite, and quartz back then. With tumbled stones, it was amethyst, ruby, sapphire, topaz, and tiger’s eye. I collected them as a child and was always excited to add to it. This interest kind of faded out as I went on less and less school trips to science museums.

Now: You will pry crystals out of my cold, dead hands. XD Seriously though, I have a whole bunch of crystals. I keep them on my altars, in a metal box by my bed, and all over my room, honestly. I favor tumbled stones more than rough ones, but there’s still an affection for rough rose quartz and quartz. I adore tiger’s eye, amethyst, carnelian, moss agate, and amazonite.Crystals are a major part of my work. I use them in just about all of my spells, from the ritualistic ones to minor aches and pains-based ones. I occasionally meditate with them. I will most likely be found wearing some kind of crystal jewelry. My spells may be infrequent, but they’re a regular ingredient (which I’ll get into in another post).

Animism

Then: As a child, I believed everything had some kind of spirit, from the stars, to the Moon, to the wind, to my stuffed animals. I remember talking in my head to the moon anytime I could. I imagined hearing her speak back to me (and a lunar deity very well could have been, who knows?). I remember when I would play games reminescent of Noah’s ark, wanting to bring everything I loved with me in the event of a disaster. I’d place all my toys under my blankets and feel at ease, knowing that everything was safe and had its place. I very well could have been influenced by media like Toy Story or Cars. Either way, I vividly remember all of that.

Now: I now know that this is the concept of animism. It’s an ideology that I still believe in whole-heartedly. I still talk to my stuffed animals (room’s full of them), I’ve dedicated some to my deities, I’ve spoken to the spirits of plants and trees, I greet the Sun and talk to the Moon as I used to, I have a spirit in my pendulum. It’s a part of my practice and philosophy. I’m not as all over the place with it as I was a child, but it still matters deeply to me.

Mythology

Then: I was first introduced to mythology by a friend in 5th grade, as I’ve mentioned before on this blog. Or rather, I was introduced to Greek mythology at that time. I had grown up reading Native American and African stories, such as those of Anansi. I found Greek mythology to be fascinating. Haven grown up in a Christian family (though my parents were rather lax about it and encouraged us to explore our personal beliefs), I’d read the Bible plenty of times. I didn’t really believe in those stories, particularly because God was either portrayed as an omniscient and violent being or omniscient, omnipotent being of perfection and love. Neither sat right with me. It also didn’t make sense to me for there to only be one god. So when I read myths as a child and learned what polytheism was, I jumped on that ship in a heartbeat. I didn’t worship anyone, but I loved the idea that there were gods of different things. With Greek mythology, I especially loved it because the gods were portrayed as having flaws, of being human in a sense. They were powerful, but not all-powerful. It was mindblowing to me at the time. I fell in love with the stories of heroes and tricksters, I expanded into Egyptian, Norse, and Japanese mythology. I took these stories as stories but also as accurate depictions of gods.

Now: Mythology... doesn’t really play a part in my practice. Contray to some polytheists, I don’t take the myths seriously. To me, all they are are human made stories about higher entities. I used to get so angry when I imagined the horrific things that deities did. I balked when I saw people question why worship or work with these deities that were notorious for doing horrific things to each other and humans? I made jokes about Zeus and his supposed indescretions, which I largely regret now. The turning point, I believe, was hearing @underworldariel discuss how you didn’t need to follow the myths or worship if that didn’t feel right. And for me, it didn’t. Suddenly, it made sense. When I started considering the cultural aspect of mythology and began working directly with deities rather than attempting to worship them, things were easier. They slotted into my practice effortlessly. I do take some inspiration from myths, namely associations, relationships, and domains, but not much else. To me, they’re just stories - which is what myths means. There’s a part of me that cringes away from the people who use mythology in a literal manner to call Zeus or Poseidon or Hades a rapist despite that... not being the truth? And that “rape” had a waaaaaay different meaning back then. I’m not saying the gods are perfect and infalliable - I think they make mistakes and have regrets too - but I don’t think they have anything to do with the stories. Deity work is a core aspect of my craft. I adore the gods with my whole heart. The stories are still fun, but I’ve learned to dissociate them from the gods I know. I’m not saying that this is the right way to approach it - that depends on you. That’s just my take on it.

And that concludes this post! At least for now. I may find some things to add later. I’m curious to see the comparisons you guys all come up with. Feel free to tag me if you do!

#my post #my path #WakingWitchblr #WitchyThenVsNow #witchblr

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ecoamerica · 23 days

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Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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teaandgames · 4 years

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Devil’s Advocate - Are Scores The Best Method For Reviewing Games?

The Question - When I started this blog, I thought long and hard about whether I should include review scores at the end or not. Both ways seem to have their merits but, as you may know by now, I went with the Pros and Cons method of reviewing. While that’s my personal choice, a heck of a lot of reviewers still use scores. So let’s debate it, are review scores the better method for reviewing games?

Yes - Scores give an immediate way for interested players to see how a game stacks up. Furthermore, a numeric value can be more easily aggregated, giving you a perfect average. Not just that, but games need to be taken as one entire package and a review conclusion should reflect that.

No - Games are more than just the sum of their parts. Review scores are an inefficient way of calculating how good a game is. Aggregates are even worse, as it’s peoples own opinions being given a numeric value. We owe developers enough to give our genuine thoughts laid out, not just a hastily slapped together number.

Fight!

Yes - Let’s face it, written reviews are something of an older breed. Your average consumer is probably going to be more interested in a video review, where they can see the game being played in a non-scripted (or at least semi-scripted) setting. That way they have a visual cue as well as the reviewer chatting it up or down. In order for written reviews to stick, they need to have something that the consumer can latch on to.

Enter: the score. No matter how beautifully written your review is, I’m guessing the vast majority of people (myself included, let’s be honest) skip down to the score. It’s your immediate clue as to whether or not this game is likely to be good. Almost regardless of reviewer, a twenty score is going to tell you everything you need to know about a game. It’s like hammering a ‘DO NOT PLAY’ sign into the front lawn. On the other hand, a game with an eighty score is going to be pretty beloved.

In a time when everyone and their mother is making games, something that helps to immediately distinguish a game is important.

No - Oh? So what range of scores would you use? One to Ten? If so, then how do you decide if something is a seven or an eight? One to a hundred? If so, what exactly is the difference between seventy-one and seventy-two? The more you start thinking about it, the more redundant the numbers start to become. Part of the reason we ended up not going with review scores is because most games have a balance of good and bad parts.

That’s where you run into the often criticised aspect of reviews, where so many games are given a seven. Because seven means it's good but has got some flaws. It says nothing about the individual game and is just an impersonal way of talking about it. Games have a lot of elements to them and I think it a bit of a disservice to reduce all of those down to a single element. For example, I’d recommend Alan Wake to everyone I meet but the repetition of the gameplay would necessitate a lower score. Which would put people off before they got through the door.

Deadly Premonition would of course be my official poster boy for that. A game I love dearly but would have to give to give a terrible score to. Or I could go the Jim Sterling route, I suppose.

Y - Arguably pretentious reviews aside, your average review number gives an ‘in’ for the review. If they see a high score, they may read the review in order to see the justification for it. If it’s a horrifically low score, then they may well read it just for the wonderful schadenfreude that comes when someone is made to play something atrocious. I’m not saying scores are the be all and end all. Rather they’re a succinct sum-up of the reviewer’s opinion.

And that’s important when it comes to aggregate sites. These are things like Metacritic that pool together all of the review scores from various sites - big and small - and come together with an average score. That score can then be reasonably trusted as a reflection on the game. If tonnes of reviewers love it and it pushes the score into the green, you know you’re getting a quality product. If it’s red then walk away.

Without scores, this wouldn’t be possible and it’s important to get a pretty sense across the board. A good score can drive sales, making these aggregate sites especially important. It works for films, it works for games.

N - Really? I’d say aggregate sites compound the problem even more. You’ve got to always keep in mind that reviews are entirely subjective. Short of mentioning the bugs and the things that mean you can’t actually play it; things that you find fun are not going to be everyone’s cup of tea. Assigning a score to a subjective opinion, then, is a bit weird. It’d be like me debating which brand of tea is best (Yorkshire) and then holding up a card reading ‘10’ after I’ve finished talking. It’s weird.

Aggregate scores then must mean very little. It’s a collection of subjective opinions given an overall number. You may really enjoy a game and find it has a forty on Metacritic or vice versa. After all, Deadly Premonition has a sixty-eight on the original Xbox 360 release yet I’d wager most people would hate it after booting it up. Lost Planet, meanwhile, is sitting at seventy-nine and I remember hating that game. Even though I can’t really remember why. Ah well.

The point is that reviewers will score how they feel and if they take exception to a game, they may rate it lower. I agree it drives sales, which is kinda scary when you’re at the whim of picky reviewers.

Y - See the thing is, your arguments seem to hinge around the fact that you can’t just sum up all of a game's parts.

N - Yes, I did say that. Almost verbatim.

Y - Right. But I’m going to disagree with that idea for a moment. You could argue to your blue in the face that we need to consider every minute detail of a game before we talk about it but that’s just not practical. No one is going to stand there while you list out every single good/bad thing. People don’t want wishy-washiness when they’re asking for a recommendation. They just want you to tell them whether the game is worth their time or not.

With games becoming more and more expensive, meaning people can’t buy them as they used to, review scores are becoming more crucial. You need to know if it's worth opening your wallet.

N - I still think that assigning it a number just like that is a disservice to the developer. We owe it to them, as to the consumers, to give games a fair shake. Unlike films, games come with a lot more parts. It's harder to say whether a game is good or not. As games get more expensive, so too do they get more complex. Numbers have become more and more irrelevant. We need to move the burden more on to the consumers now.

Read about your games before you shell out. Find some reviewers that know the genres and share the same thoughts as you. Then cross that with a few other reviewers to try and eliminate bias. It only takes a while and could save you some heart ache.

Y - Whatever you do though, don’t read the Steam reviews.

N - Absolutely. Do not do that. Ever.

The Sum Up!

Y - With so many games out there, review scores give us a great way to sort the wheat from the chaff. What’s more, with so many of these scores added together it gives a great way to see what games are really made of. After all, a game consists of parts that add up to a whole so it's up to use to review the whole package.

N - Games are more than just the sum of its parts. Some parts may be weaker while others are stronger. Assigning a score therefore seems a little silly. Reviews are necessarily subjective and scoring something subjective is strange to begin with and adding all the scores together more so. We owe it to developers to review all parts of their game equally.

#Deadly Premonition #Alan Wake #Lost Planet #Reviews #Devil's Advocate #Gaming #Video Games #Tea And Video Games #article #Review scores #2020

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conchstellations · 4 years

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watching the 1990 LOTF movie!! my reactions:

hello all!!!! i was bored at midnight again so here it is: me watchin the 1990 movie, for the first time, hell yeah!!!!! here we go!!! its got the other movie to live up to, so im excited for a comedy lmao!! tl;dr at end if u want!!! its kinda long btw lmao

- castle rock entertainment??? piggy u better watch out bro

- fuck is that the pilot???

- k this isnt a big thing but why are they in water? the plane left a scar in the earth, they were on land.

- okay, again, me nitpicking. but idk, to me, they dont look 12?? maybe its just cause theyre all dressed up n that but they dont look like 12 yr olds to me like the last movie

- why tf does ralph (?) have a glowstick lmaooooo

- why are they all together. where is my conch. wher are my stupid ass choir outfits. maybe im not there yet and they have them, but i want my stupid cloaks!!! jack would not stand for this!!!

- why TF is the pilot alive???

- am i supposed to know whos who by now?? did i just miss that?? which ones ralph? which ones jack?? wheres simon???

- conch??? the conchs main job is to bring them together, and here theyre already together so???

- piggy already makin me love him gosh piggy is child

- okay so im guessing brown hair kid is ralph

- piggy protecting conch rights

- i do like piggys sass... very iconic

- okay whAT??? is that blonde kid supposed to be jack?? first off, jack has red hair. second off, there is no way in hELL THAT MY basTARD child jack merridew would let ralph win the election just like that??? wheres my choir??? wheres my c sharp???

- okay jack would for sure call piggy shitbrain nvm

- mY CHOIR WOULD NOT ACCEPT THAT SINGING.

- wheres simon????

- r they fuckin cookin lizards??? nvm look away simon pls dont be in this

- is thAT BITCH supposed to be Simon?? hes got a lot to look up to. also why the FUCK is the adult alive. taht ruins the whole purpose of the entire book

- was that a dream??? sorry im dumb af lmao

- alrght simon is kind of an adorable hild and he likes lizard maybe hes valid?

- idk.. for some reason this ralph isnt like, giving me ralph vibes?? hes just not bring like ralphish u know??

- now im getting a little bit more of our beloved lil bitch ralph..

- okay wtf is going on lmao

- “SHOVE THEIR DICK IN THE CONCH” had me laughing for a solid fucking 30 minutes. william golding who??? whoever wrote that line is the new icon

- ‘EAT SHIT AND DIE” okay wtffff im so confused but also vv entertained

- for some reason jack’s character is like 100% off, but also somehow 100% on point “thats exactly what i meant” like holy shit. like idk hes not jack but just sometimes he radiates “jack if he was allowed to swear and was less of a lil bitch” energy

- ok simon and lizard?? valid

- i swear to FUCKING GOD i will kill that child!!!

- im gonna cry. wtf. why would you kill his lizard. even this movie’s jack seems like he thinks thats fucked up and hes a psychopath. also, lemme say, at this point, i think most of the book characters would beat the shit out of someone if they were mean to simon like that, bc the choir were his friends, and ralphs tribe respected him, sooooo

- why tf is it simons job to take care of the adult that shouldnt even be there? liek wtf hes grieving asshole

- no fucking duh hes scared of everyone but simon i would be too

- honestly kinda glad they let ralph say fuck he deserved it

- “back off man im sick of ur shit and sos my gang” fuckin got em

- let me guess pilot dude is the new beast???

- honestly wtf is goin on lmao

- okay piggys actor actually made me sd when he was crying about his glasses so good job

- simon comin through with the glowstick. also, good job simon

- well at least the lord of the flies looks terrifying as always

- are samneric putting on warpaint this early?? bc i WILL NOT stand for that shit. i am a samneric STAN Ok??? they were two of the tHREE left when simon died who didnt become cowards and go savage. they wree LOYAL to ralph until they were LITERALLY tied up and FORCED to join jack, and even then they helped ralph!!!! so fuck u. samneric are better than that.

- oh simon :(

- im glad they actually kind of (?) shwed simon like with the pig head bc last movei it was just ike them flipping the camera from pig to si so idkk

- ok that was a pretty ralph move to bring up the fire 24/7 lmao

- piggytits?? tf

- simon with hus fuckin glowstick lmao

- awe, simon

- okay HOLY SHIT. the sounds of what i assume to be them fucking stabbing simon are horrific. and then that cut to simon’s fucking mutiliated corpse?? holy SHIT. like as much as im complaining, thats the gruesome shit i expect from this book. i was expecting them to shy away from it bc its so awful, but im SO glad they didnt, bc that gave me fuckin chills. finally, something i can praise them on. thats the lord of the flies i expect.

- i feel bad for ralph.. good job

- ok good. samneric came back. good job again.

- ok. nvm. the disrespect to my loyal children. alright.

- okay that child screaming as hes being whipped?? wtf.

- ok that line of piggy being scared that the russians will take them nad make them go into the olympics? gold.

- piggys laugh is so pure

- why the fuCK are they finding instruments lmao

- poor piggy

- did roger just wolf whistle at ralph what the fuck is going on

- holy SHIt this movie does not hold back on the blood. but, wheres my conch explosion?? if ur gonna show him getting hit u gotta show the conch exploding. although, the conch means like nothing in this movie lmao

- okay wow piggys dead body cool cool cool

- ralph fucking YEETED that kid to the ground lmao

- okay, ralph crying?? good acting

tl;dr/conclusion/my thoughts: hooooo boy so i see why everyone likes 1960 one better.

first, lets start with the obvious: why this isnt lord of the flies. because its not. if this wasnt telling me that its lord of the flies, i would think of it as that, really. first off, the conch. the conch represents civility, it brings them together. its important. when piggy dies, it dies, representing how all civility is now gone. i maybe saw the conch three times this movie. didnt do anything.

second, the pilot, captain whatever. the point of the beast to me is that they made it up. sure, the corpse was real, but it didnt pose a threat, it was simply a corpse. they made it into what it was, therefore proving that they are the beast. sure, the pilot here was harmless, but he grbbed a boy’s foot and was therefore making himself a possible threat. maybe its not a big deal i guess.

third, the characters. the point of lord of the flies is that they are rich kids who havent gone through anything. theyre the perfect, spoiled kids who havent done anything wrong. half of them are in choir. chOIR. in this movie, lets take jack for example. they said he stole a car and got sent to military school. no. the point of jack is that he was a perfect kid. leader of choir. he was manipulitive and got even ADULTS to trust him. its part of hs character, showing that this perfect choir leader kid went fucking insane to prove how literally everyone can be evil. also samneric???? the direspect!! they were loyal to ralph until they were tied up and FORCED to join jack, and even then, after roger like beat the shit out of them, they were STILL loyal. fuck you.

so those are the MAIN reasons why it wasnt lotf.

now, what i liked i guess.

the swearing was NOT lotf, and it didnt fit with the story, but ill admit that i laughed, so i guess thats a plus.

second, i liked how they showed the gore, i guess? sounds weird, hear me out. lord of the flies is a gruesome, violent, awful book. theres descriptions of death in detail, and im so glad they showed it. when simon’s body was there, literally torn to shreds? the shock of it, the true savagery you see that these boys murdered him SO violently, is amazing, because thats the essence of lotf. simons death shows how theyve lost all their civility, and showing such a gruesome corpse really brings that through. so good job.

and now, of course, the obvious: thats not the characters i pictured when i read the story. simon doesnt look like that, ralph doesnt look like that, jack doesnt look like that.

where did the choir go, too? forgot to mention that, and i think that also adds into the whole, theyre supposed to be perfect kids and then become savage thing. also, the choir was a group. they voted for jack and went with him for a reason.

so yea, thats that. dont know why people would read this lmao but thats my thoughts!!!! i just need to keep myself busy when i watch movies and to make sure i focused, i figured id just write down my thoughts as i went. if u wanna watch for free, look up lord of the flies 1990 google drive.

;)))) and yea im posting this at 230 am lmao why not

#lord of the flies #lotf #lotf 1990

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mobius-prime · 4 years

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212. Sonic the Hedgehog #144

Mobius 25 Years Later: The Die is Cast

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Steven Butler Colors: Jason Jensen

We've finally made it to the final installment of this damned arc! Man, that doesn't seem to leave us a lot of time to solve the main conflict of the world ending, does it…? Well, I suppose we have to read the issue first. Knuckles arrives back home after his visitation to Locke's grave, and tells a delighted Lara-Su that he's rethought his stance on training her as a Guardian and plans to start straightaway - after, of course, his current mission with Sonic. When he makes a vague allusion to asking her mother for help on her instruction if he doesn't come back, Lara-Su tries to insist she come along to help, and Julie-Su, who was listening in, becomes indignant.

Aww, that's actually sweet. I think that's the first time we've seen actual, real affection between any of this arc's married couples. Julie-Su sees Knuckles off to his shuttle, driven by - who else - an elderly Harry, and Sally makes him promise he'll bring her husband back to her. He tries to find Lara-Su for a final goodbye before his mission, but is somewhat baffled to not find her anywhere, assuming she was too angry at not being taken along to stick around. The shuttle flies them out through the worsening storms to the "badlands," a horrifically-polluted section of the planet that's so toxic the group has to wear sealed suits as they traverse the terrain and make their way to Robotnik's old hidden base.

Sonic immediately volunteers himself to go back in time despite the dangers Rotor warns him of, and we cut away to the shuttle for a little surprise - Lara-Su has stowed away in a cargo box, determined to come along and help despite what her father thinks. However, before she can even take a step outside the shuttle, she begins to vanish from reality like that scene from Back to the Future. What could be causing this? Well, back in the base, we might find our answer:

And… that's it! No, seriously, that's literally the end of the arc. No context is given for what we just saw happen. It's not explained if this time travel venture indeed caused the world to end, or if Sonic going back in time erased this timeline in favor of another, or what. This is such an abrupt and unsatisfactory ending that I have to wonder if Kenders was forced to end the story early on short notice, because absolutely nothing is explained here. We spent over a dozen issues building up to something, enduring trite teen drama and old stuffy adults arguing at each other while locked into loveless marriages, and got the most vague and useless ending possible, after all of that. I mean, what was even the point of all this then? Some chapters in this arc had literally no plot or character progression whatsoever! The aversion of the end of time and space was literally the most interesting potential plot hook in this entire arc, and it's basically swept aside in the last few pages with no explanation. This almost makes the actually good writing of last issue seem useless, if this is what came directly afterwards. *sigh* Ah well, we're finally free of this nightmare. And as it turns out, we're very close to the end of Penders as a whole! Those of you who have read the comics before might have noticed that we're rapidly approaching the 160th issue, which is when a certain fan-favorite writer took the reins and started to fix a lot of the messes that the previous writers left him with. So if you're one of the ones who despises everything Penders ever wrote, you don't have much longer to suffer - just a few more issues and we're in the clear!

Love and Loss

Writer: Romy Chacon Pencils: Jon Gray Colors: Josh Ray

This story is a bit of a bizarre one, being very unlike any others we've read so far. There's very little action and a whole lot of solid blocks of text to read, but in a way, I do feel it's interesting and contributes to several characters' arcs in a positive manner. A poor bear is doing his best to sell some newspapers to the denizens of Knothole one Wednesday evening when he suddenly finds himself mobbed by a horde of rabid women all grabbing for a copy.

Now that is quite interesting. No, I don't mean the love advice column - I mean the little signpost in the second panel, the one listing the prices for products at the stand! Now, Jon has a habit of making up things to put on posters and the like in the background of his art, many of which are clearly just meant to be humorous and not to be taken seriously, but this is literally (as far as I can tell) the very first instance we've ever seen of an actual unique currency in this world! "Mobiums", huh? They seem to be kind of equivalent to Japanese yen, in that a single one is barely worth a penny - I mean, I'm pretty sure they're not meant to be like dollars anyway, as $75 for a single comic seems incredibly steep. For now, I suppose we'll have to add "Mobiums" to our list of potentially-canon bits of worldbuilding info about Mobius.

Anyway, as you might expect, several of our favorite girls in this comic have gotten themselves a copy today, and as it turns out, they've all written in their own letters and are eager to see the advice this "Aly" will give them. First up is Bunnie, who writes in under the pseudonym "Feeling Terribly Alone." Obviously, her main problem is with Antoine. She details how they've grown apart and how she feels like she doesn't even know him anymore - and yet, despite all their recent difficulties, she's still in love with him and wishes things could go back to the way they used to be.

Poor Bunnie. One of the things that seems to crop up for her now and again is her well-hidden insecurities about her cyborg nature. From her recurring nightmares, to her concern over the idea of Antoine still being able to be attracted to her despite her robotic parts, it's clear that she struggles a lot more with her nature than she lets on, and her relationship with Antoine boosted her confidence immensely. They were clearly happy together, and just as they were getting past the honeymoon phase and settling into a more steady relationship, he became cold towards her without a clear explanation as to why. It's clearly broken her heart at a time when she desperately needs to be able to hold it together, and the idea of her sitting in her house at night, alone and sobbing to herself uncontrollably, is really sad.

Next up is Mina, AKA "Singing the Blues." Her letter discusses how lately she's feeling torn between old crushes and new relationships. Her new boyfriend, Ash, was briefly shown in StH#134, but apparently they've grown quite close in the year that Sonic was gone. However, with Sonic back, Mina has been feeling the old familiar butterflies around him, and questions whether she truly loves Ash in the same way she cares for Sonic. (Obviously, however, in the usual vein of these kinds of ask columns, everything she says is vague, not mentioning any names.) Aly's letter advises her to not give up on a current happy relationship to chase someone else who may not even be interested, and Mina appears to genuinely take this to heart, deciding to give her boyfriend a call despite the late hour.

Well, good for her! Mina's a sweetheart, and it does seem like she and Ash genuinely care for each other. The third letter comes from Amy, or "Wishing for Love," who lays out her crush on Sonic and how she's tried to get his attention here and there, including going so far as to "look and dress older" (bit of an understatement there, Ames) to catch his eye. However, she's frustrated that she can't seem to gain his affections, and wants Aly's opinion on whether she really is putting too much effort into a silly crush, or whether she actually has a chance. Aly begins by tactfully pointing out that it sounds like she's still young, and it's not a good idea to rush into love too quickly when there's so much more life ahead.

…yeah, that's about what I'd expect from Amy. After all, remember that despite her physical age, she still mentally skipped half her childhood up to this moment, and she's also the hopeless romantic type, so it's not surprising she'd be unimpressed by advice telling her to look away from her crush. The article appears to be winding down, but everyone reading is struck by what they see in the last entry, from someone called "Royally Scared." The writer dives into her story, about her deepest love and how they made a commitment to each other only for her love to be "lost," which broke her heart. When he came back, she tried to get him to walk away from his "job" for a better job in her family's "business," but he refused and they had an ugly break-up as a result. She still loves him, but she's too scared of losing him again, especially because he's so brash and throws himself into danger without a care.

Everyone immediately realizes that this is Sally's letter, and are riveted to the page for Aly's response. Aly admits that she doesn't have a solid answer for this one, but says that it seems like they both have valid points. She points out that Sally's "dramatic confrontation" might not have been very fair to her lover, and urges them to both talk it out like adults after they take some time apart to reevaluate their own priorities, before wishing her luck and concluding the article. I just want to point out that the entire section where she lays it out and Aly responds is masterfully put together, with the heart-filled background slowly transitioning to a deep, tangled mass of purple and black as the letter goes on, interspersed with silhouettes of Sally crying and looking very alone in a dark void. I've pointed it out before, but Sally was very clearly traumatized - badly - by everything she's been through, with Sonic's supposed death being a breaking point for her, and the backgrounds of this issue symbolize this struggle very effectively. But here comes the real twist. After all, "Aly" is clearly a pseudonym, and no one knows who's really running this column. So who do you suppose it is?

God damn. Even in the middle of dealing with severe PTSD, Sally's still got a damn good head on her shoulders. It seems that people were starting to suspect her as the writer, so she deliberately wrote in a letter that was obviously her, and then answered it herself to throw readers off the scent. And her answer to herself was well thought out and reasonable - it's clear that she wrote her entry letter first, then forced herself to take a step back and evaluate her situation as though she were a third party who didn't know any of the finer details. The result is a response that doesn't betray her true identity, and isn't obviously colored by her own biases, where she gets a chance to look at her situation with a clearer head (probably helped out substantially by Nicole as an outside perspective). She flat-out acknowledges that her own actions on the stage the night of Sonic's welcome home party were unreasonable and unfair to him, and calls herself out on it in a public newsletter (even if most people aren't aware of the circumstances behind this entry). I feel like this only supports what I said about The Slap several issues ago, that she wasn't acting rationally that night and needs to be cut some slack on account of her (now-canonically-acknowledged) trauma. And in the end, her Aly persona is right. While she and Sonic still love each other, their differences have made a stable relationship between the two currently impossible, meaning it's best for them to take that time apart to figure out what each of them want before they think about getting back together. I think this is a really good follow-up to what happened in that issue, and gives a lot more insight into just why Sally did what she did, and how she's handling it after the fact.

This issue ends with a single page reminiscent of the Sega Data Files of issues past, this time covering the entire Acorn Royal Family. There's not much info here that we don't already know, but we do find out that Elias and his wife Megan's child has been born by now, a daughter named Alexis. Hope we get to see them all again soon!

#nala reads archie sonic preboot #archie sonic #archie sonic preboot #sonic the hedgehog #sth 144 #writer: ken penders #writer: romy chacon #pencils: steven butler #pencils: jon gray #colors: jason jensen #colors: joshua d ray

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fancifulwritings · 4 years

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The Song Remains The Same

Chapter Six

Her sleep, just like she had assumed, was dreamless. Calypso woke with a bit of a start, eyes flying open. Someone was touching her. And fuck, did it feel amazing. For a second, she wasn’t sure she was really awake. Perhaps it was just one of those dreams, those painfully vivid ones. The feeling of someone between her legs had her gasping softly. She looked down and saw the familiar blonde curls and just smirked.

At first, it only seemed to add to the idea that this was a dream. A rather vivid and specific dream, but a dream nonetheless. It wasn’t until she felt a finger gently push into her that she moaned, realizing that it was very real.

The events of the night before flashed quickly through her mind. How could she forget them? At the moment, though, Calypso didn’t have time to focus on them. Robert’s tongue was quite the distraction, tracing shapes around her clit. She moaned softly again, grasping at the curls. Her legs spread a bit more before coming to rest on his shoulders.

She tugged a bit on his hair, forcing him closer as her hips rolled against him. In her half-asleep state, she didn’t have time to worry if she was being too needy. She just wanted. In response, Robert just hummed a little. It didn’t take her too long to finally feel the wave. This orgasm was much less intense than the others. She just moved slowly into it, riding the waves until she felt it was over.

Just because it was less intense didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy herself. It was the perfect wake up call, really. Anything as intense as the night before so early would have wiped her for the day. Robert kissed his way back up her body, smirking as he did so.

“Good morning my dear, I hope you didn’t mind,” he said as he propped himself up next to her. There was almost a youthful glow to his face and Calypso found herself mystified for a moment.

“No, never,” she finally said with a chuckle before leaning up to kiss him. “What time is it?” She asked, rubbing the last of the sleep from her eyes.

“Right around eight.”

“And why are you up so early?”

“Sleeping in gets harder the older you get,” he chuckled. “I might still be on the 70s rock star schedule, but my body says I’m a grandfather who needs to water the garden.”

She laughed as well, turning to face him as she propped herself up on her elbow. “I suppose this is where we part ways, no?” Robert just chuckled.

It saddened her, to think that this was all over. She was likely to never see him again. As much as she already treasured the short time together, she didn’t want it to end. She never wanted to leave the bed. Being so close to him? It was somehow grounding for Calypso. Part of her soul finally felt at peace, a part that hadn’t felt that for a very long time.

“Only if you’ve got important places or people to see. I did promise you the 70s experience, didn’t I?” He said, one eyebrow tilting up. Calypso, in response, only cocked her head.

What else was there to the ‘true’ 70s experience? Had that not been what she experienced last night? And then again just now? The only thing she could think of was drugs. That couldn’t be something he was still into now, though. Surely he thought himself too old for such actions.

“I can’t give you the most authentic, which would have been having you as one of my road girls.” Robert spoke as he pushed some hair out of her face. “Heaven knows you would have been one,” he said with a smile, “naturally, that is assuming you wouldn’t have mind minded.”

How could she had minded? Her heart fluttered at the thought of more time spent with him, even if it was only in a fictional past. The way he talked suggested that they might just have a bit more time together.

Before having met him, Robert had already stolen her heart. People said to never meet your heroes. They would only end up hurting you in the end. They could never live up to the person you created in your head. But Robert had. He had managed to live up to every expectation she had created so far, and perhaps even more.

“And while I unfortunately can’t give you that experience, I can offer you a day of it, at the least. Perhaps the rest of your stay, if you’re here for long. If you so wouldn’t mind.”

Calypso couldn’t help how wide her eyes grew. He was offering not just a few more hours with her, trapped in a hotel room, but a whole week. At least, that’s what the sounds of it was. As much as she wanted to, she knew she couldn’t take the full offer. Not right away, at least.

There was still a nagging part of her brain, at the very back, that she couldn’t push away. He would get sick of her, it said. Having an adoring fan around constantly would easily get annoying. As much as she wanted to say yes, she couldn’t put herself in that position. They’d be trapped together. Or, he’d just throw her out. It was a big offer for someone that had literally just met her. That part of her brain wanted to point out that he was only human as well.

“I’ll take the offer of only a day, for now,” she said, her voice small as she leaned over to kiss him. A flash of disappointment ran across Robert’s face. The last thing she wanted to do was insult or hurt him. If she did that, then she wouldn’t even get her day. This memory was something she wanted to preserve as something good.

“If after today you still want me around for the rest of the week, I’ll happily spend the it with you.” Robert chuckled a bit at that, the hurt slowly easing from his face.

“I hardly doubt you’ll be able to weasel your way out of it.” He paused to kiss her forehead. “Only thing you could do is tell me that Jim’s actually your favorite.”

“Competitive still, after all these years?” She shook her head. “Humor me, though. He nodded before he pressed another kiss to her forehead.

“For you, I will.” Robert shifted a little on the bed so that he was sitting on the edge. “Come, let’s get dressed. There’s got to be some things you’d like to get from your hotel room as well, yeah?”

She hurried to get dressed back into the outfit from the night before, now regretting how short her shorts were. The only difference now was that she was without underwear. There was no way in hell she would be putting those things back on. Robert just smirked as he watched her stuff her panties into her back pocket. From there, he called a car and they were off.

This car trip was vastly different from the last two they had taken together. It was much shorter, to begin with. Her hotel was just around the corner from his, though hers was much cheaper. When they arrived, she demanded that he stay in the car. She spun some little white lie about not wanting to lose the car.

In reality, Calypso was ashamed of where she was staying. Surely, just from the outside front of the hotel, he would be able to tell how cheap it was. The inside, though, truly gave away her price range. It had been the only one she could afford for the week she wanted to stay. Her fear was that it might drive him away. Nothing had been able to yet, but that fear was still there, at the back of her mind, digging itself a bit deeper.

Gathering everything up into her single suitcase wasn’t hard. There wasn’t much in her hotel room, both from her and the hotel itself. This was done more as a precaution. If he still wanted her around, she wanted to be ready. The quicker she could get in and out, the better. If not, he would never know she had done it.

From there, she changed into a simple sweatshirt and blue jeans. She’d been able to ignore the bitter cold the night before for the sake of the event. Today wasn’t like yesterday, though. Hopefully he wouldn’t think her too ugly now.

She slipped back into the car, gone for barely half an hour. Her bag lay left in her room, right by the door. It was her way of getting hopeful. All she wanted was to spend time with Robert. Now that she had been granted a view into his world, he life, she wanted to drink it all in and stay as long as she could. Stay as long as she was permitted.

Soon after, they abandoned the car. Everything Robert wished to show her would be easier to reach on foot. For the most part, he managed to steer them away from the tourist traps.

For the most part, the tourist traps had been Calypso’s plan for day. She’d been hoping to at least get a chance to see a few of them. In her mind, when she planned this trip, it would be her only time to get to London, and probably England. What he wanted to do too precedence now.

London would always be here, unless something went horrifically wrong. Hopefully, one day, she would be able to come back and afford a bit more than what she had now. Robert, on the other hand, offered the true once in a lifetime trip. This his birthplace. This was his home country. It was only natural that he would know best where to go and what to show her.

The little places that seemed to be no more than holes in the wall was where he brought her. They were truly amazing. She couldn’t afford most of what they looked at. Thankfully, when they stopped for food or a drink, he paid without a second thought. These were places and restaurants that she never would have been able to find on her own.

The best part of it, perhaps, was the stories he shared at each place. Every story didn’t have a definitive time; he never gave dates. It was like a tour of his past, of his history. There seemed to be no specific order. Some of the stories were more detailed than others. But, to watch him happily relieve bits and pieces of his past was something Calypso would have been all her money for.

There was one shop that Robert stopped at for a moment that confused her. It seemed much too new for it to follow all the others. The clothing in the window was stunning, though. There was on dress in particular that truly caught her attention. It was made out of some soft-looking white fabric, with a floral pattern bathed in light blues and pinks.

Robert noticed her stare, having looked at her more than the storefront. “Let’s go in,” he said as he squeezed her hand. She froze a little bit, looking up at him. There was no way she could actually go into this place. All the others she would weasel her way into without guilt because he was talking. Now he wasn’t. There was no need to buy something before. Now, it felt a bit different.

“I don’t really have the budget for this,” she mumbled. She looked away from him, ashamed to mention anything related to money.

“Doesn’t matter. That’s hardly the way to think anyways,” he chuckled. He pulled her into the store without another chance to refuse.

At first, he headed toward the men’s section. That eased her anxiety just a bit. Perhaps he had meant that he was the one looking for something. She let out a sigh of relief. That relief, unfortunately, didn’t last too long as he turned toward the women’s section.

There was no way she could convince herself now that this was only for him. He had hardly looked at anything, let alone picked anything up in the other section. He seemed to be walking straight toward the dresses. They all looked something straight from the 70s and she yearned to be able to afford just one.

There was no way she ever could afford thinking about owning one, though. She spotted a tag on one of the men’s shirts and it had been nearly all her spending money for the week. The dresses, she assumed, could only be much more.

“Pick out a few and try them on for me,” he said with a sideways grin. Once again, she just froze.

“Robert, I really, I don’t have that kind of money,” she mumbled as she looked down. Robert just shook his head and made a soft tutting sound before guiding her face up with a finger under her chin.

“That hardly matters. It’s on me, babe. Today’s all on me,” he said as he nudged her toward the rack. “Now, go. I’ll be waiting by the dressing room.”

For a second, Calypso thought that this was perhaps a cover for a quick fuck. But, he wasn’t that young anymore. Getting caught would ruin his life much more now than before. That, and he sounded stuck on the idea of her getting something. She let out a sigh as she moved to the racks.

It only took her a few minutes to glance over everything. She picked up a few dresses, including the one from the window. It was the most expensive one, so she doubted she would be getting it. But, something told her that Robert would be disappointed if she didn’t at least try it on.

She went on trying them on, coming out of the dressing room to show him what each looked like. It hit her then that he really was willing to spend an insane amount of money on her. This wasn’t some sly attempt at sex. Robert didn’t even attempt to get in the dressing room.

When it came to that dress, the one from the window, he couldn’t help himself though. His hands were all over her the second she walked out in it. He pulled her close. “You look lovely in this. At least allow me the pleasure to buy you it?”

Even to herself, Calypso had to admit that it did look the best. It fit her perfectly, a beautiful mixture of tight and flowy. The white color, and the pastel blues and pinks, played off her tanned skin. Robert had a certain look in his eyes that she didn’t dare defy. Calypso knew she would have to allow him to get it for her.

Check out was a bit uncomfortable for her, to say the least. The man behind the counter looked between then with this odd, almost knowing look. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him at all, let alone in the eye. Robert, on the other hand, just smirked and pulled her a bit tighter. Something told her he was used to those sort of looks.

“Come this way, I’ve got a place that I think you’re gonna love,” he said as he pulled her down some side alley. She wasn’t too sure she liked the sounds of that. That was, until they stopped at some hole in the wall record store. Her eyes grew to about twice their normal size and he grinned.

“I’m already in love,” she said with a smile as they walked in. The looks of the place gave its age away. Not that she minded. If she hadn’t figured it out from the store itself, there was a certain grace Robert now had in his steps that would have given it away.

Calypso could almost imagine him here as a young man, all those years ago. Filled with hope for the world and without the weight of life he held now. A young man who had just started in an unknown band that would soon be the talks of the world for decades to come.

The idea played beautiful in her head, a young Robert prancing around the store trying to find whatever record he needed in the moment. She was ripped from her daydream as he pulled her toward the blues section. His grip on her hand loosened just a bit. “You can go look elsewhere, if you want. Leave an old man to his fun. Just, no Zeppelin,” he teased with a smile.

“I wouldn’t judge so fast,” she teased with a smile. “I was planning on going digging tomorrow. Today works just as well. There’s a single that I’ve been searching for forever. I bet if I’m ever gonna find it, it’s gonna be right here.”

There was a bit of surprise on his face as his lips tugged into a smile. “Well, then show me up girl,” he said.

Calypso just rolled her eyes as she laughed before digging right into an old thing of 45s. There was a ton of stuff that she would have loved to grab. Her collection, at the moment, was pretty small. Nothing she had was super hard to find, or super expensive.

The only thing really keeping her from grabbing everything was that she had to get it home. Not a whole lot would fit in her luggage, especially records. At the beginning of the trip, she had promised herself one thing. If she found the one specific single, it was all that she would get. Anything else just wouldn’t do.

Just as she was about to give up on looking for it, she found it hidden stuck behind another. It didn’t look the best, clearly having seen better days. But, to her, the old copy of “Milk Cow Blues” was beautiful. God, she had grown up on that song. She grinned from ear to ear as she pulled it out.

“Now, how does someone like you get into someone like that?” He asked as he turned to look at her.

“My mom used to play it all the time when I was little. I lost the copy years ago and I’ve been searching ever since.”

He gathered up the few records and things he had picked up for himself. “Well, let me be the one to reunite you with it. Perhaps show you some more stuff, of his and a few others I’d bargain you like, back at my country house,” he said. His hand was extended to take the 45 from her.

This wasn’t one thing she was going to let up on. She intended to stand her ground. “If that’s an invitation, then yes. But, on one condition.”

“Lay it on me babe.”

“You let me buy this on my own.” She had a wild look in her eye, one that said he better not push this. Robert couldn’t help but chuckle after she spoke.

“You drive a hard bargain, but I accept.”

#the song remains the same #robert plant fanfiction #robert plant fanfic #led zeppelin fanfic #led zeppelin fanfiction

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