#like?? wouldn’t you have a mental breakdown about that revelation?! like I get human emotions are complex | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mewtonian-physics · 3 years

Text

my ranking of the alex rider original series (stormbreaker through scorpia rising) from ‘book i least enjoy rereading’ to ‘book i most enjoy rereading’ let’s goooo

spoilers for all 9 books under the cut

9. Ark Angel

...He went to space. He went to space. Also the entire plot could have been avoided if Drevin had actually bothered to provide a photograph of his son. I’m sure he had one. I still like this book but it’s literally so insane that I just don’t know what to do with it.

It is however really funny that Webber just goes and gives a speech insulting this super high-profile ecoterrorist group and acts like it’s no big deal and then they kill him. Shock of shocks.

8. Skeleton Key

Okay, points to this book for terrifying the shit out of me. God damn it does that shark scene scare me. Also, points for making me feel a little bit bad for a man who wants to nuke his own country because he thinks it will fix the place up. I’m still not entirely sure how that’s supposed to work, but that’s probably a good thing. I feel like understanding his thought process would say bad things about me. Still, I actually did feel sorry for him, if only a little. Dude was clearly mentally unstable and I doubt his son’s death helped at all. I also got sad about what happened to Carver and Troy. (Yeah, yeah, I’m a cringe fail American who has the American release. So sue me.) What a nightmare that must’ve been to endure... Otherwise, though, I’m not super into this book. The opening is just kind of meh and the way it leads into the rest of the plot seems a little bit unbelievable. Also, this might be an unpopular opinion, but Sabina annoys me. I would not get along with her at all and I can’t imagine her as a girlfriend. Skeleton Key does, however, absolutely excel at the emotional scenes.

Also, why are all the spy agencies so comfortable with sending in a 14-year-old? Especially when they outright admit that the other attempts have all died horribly? Bureaucracy’s a bitch.

7. Point Blank

Boo, Dr. Grief! Boo! We hate your white supremacy! I’m so glad you got a snowmobile to the face, you deserved it. (Perks of books written by Jewish people--we aren’t afraid to give the neo-Nazis an unpleasant death.) Anyway, this book definitely isn’t bad, but I wouldn’t really say it stands out in the series. It definitely does hammer home the point of just how trapped Alex is, since MI6 isn’t going to just let him go after one mission, and let’s face it, the plot with the clones is creepy as hell, if highly improbable. But I’m largely just here to see the neo-Nazi get snowmobiled. That’s right, I just completely changed the definition of a pre-established word. I’m a rebel.

Also, I hate Fiona Friend so much and overall think she just didn’t need to be in the book, but the line about ‘I’d rather kiss the horse’ made me laugh so hard. Alex, you sass.

6. Snakehead

Okay, let’s talk about how genius the plan in this book is. I love it! I love how Yu wants to kill the people involved in the peace conference without making them into martyrs, so he comes up with this whole elaborate plan to stage a natural disaster. It’s incredible. This dude was thinking so far ahead. And he would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for that meddling kid... But anyway, I don’t see a lot of books where the villain really acknowledges that killing their enemies could just cause more problems for them via turning them into martyrs for a cause. Also, the way he’s so polite and soft-spoken while also being a complete monster... This book genuinely gives me chills. Extra bonus points for the part in the hospital, the absolute nightmare of having all your organs slowly removed and sold off and everyone around you is being so nice about it? ‘Oh, don’t worry, Alex, it won’t be so bad. Here, take your medicine. Do you need anything?’ Literally just. What the fuck.

Also Ash can fucking fight me. You put your own godson in horrible danger on purpose! You killed your best friend! Bastard.

...And just in case the book wasn’t disturbing enough, Yu’s fate at the end lives in my mind rent-free and I think about it on a concerningly regular basis considering that the chances of that happening to me are so low they’re practically in the negatives. Damn you, Horowitz.

I would also be remiss if I did not mention just how much I love the tagline ‘once bitten, twice spy’.

5. Crocodile Tears

Ah yes, the book that kickstarted my drift away from the church... I kid, of course. I drifted away from the church for completely separate reasons. But Desmond McCain is always going to scare the shit out of me. The ability to kill countless innocent people while blissfully quoting Bible verses (that he takes wildly out of context and uses for his own self-serving means) is... well, I could actually say a lot about what that reminds me of, but I’m here to rate books, not religion. Moving on. This book has some really stellar antagonists, and the plot is chilling in a way that feels a lot more realistic than most of the other books. Even if some of it is a bit farfetched (sabotaging a nuclear power plant? Really?), the idea of using disasters for your own profit... well. I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate on why that is so believable. The Poison Dome is also a really cool and chilling scene--even Alex, who has the luck of the devil, can’t get out of that one unscathed. Further scares come in with the fate of Harold Bulman--imagine having your entire existence wiped and your identity changed while you were asleep! The breakdown he has over it is almost enough to make me feel sorry for him, even though he was ready to exploit a teenager and make his life a living hell just to turn a profit. Note the word almost.

Also. The opening makes me cry. Specifically the line talking about how Ravi’s kids would ‘never meet Mickey Mouse’. I lose my goddamn mind every single time I read it. That little personal touch turns the scene from a statistic to a tragedy. Once again: Damn you, Horowitz.

4. Stormbreaker

Yeah, this one gets the special cover shot. And why not? What we are looking at here is the birth of a legend. Move the fuck over, James Bond, Alex Rider is on the scene now. Anyway, yeah, this book is pretty damn spectacular. It has its stumbles, but as the first book in a series, that’s to be expected. Still, it pulls you in from quite literally the first line and keeps you going right up until the end. (If you came here from my post of memes, you know how much the line ‘Killing is for grownups, and you’re still a child’ destroys me.) It has the debut of much-beloved characters such as, of course, Alex--but also Jack Starbright, and of course, the best MI6 agent of them all, which is to say Smithers. Hell, even Yassen Gregorovich, especially once you get through Russian Roulette... Man, that was a rough one.

Seriously, though. This is a really good book. The scene with the Portuguese man-o’-war still gives me the chills to think about. (Have you ever looked up pictures of those things? They’re beautiful, but holy shit will they make you regret being born. Nature is funny like that.)

We also get the introduction of, of course, Alex’s patented sass (his response to Sayle saying he relates to the man-o’-war is HILARIOUS) and we get the inherent humor of Alex screwing up an alias one time and then just going by Alex for the rest of the series so he doesn’t do that again. Really, kid, I know you’re not a trained spy or anything but did you never play pretend growing up? Ever? You can’t pretend your name is Felix for a little while? That sounds like a you problem.

3. Scorpia Rising

I distinctly remember when this book came out, actually. I was on vacation at the time, and I remember my brother annoying the hell out of the poor workers at a bookstore we frequented there to see if/when they were going to get it in. They did, finally, and we bought it immediately, and I was of course absolutely desperate to read it. He got to read it first, though. -_-

This is a great book, an absolute emotional rollercoaster all the way through. The way Blunt tricks Alex back into service by staging a shooting was exactly the kind of cold, brutal behavior I’d expect from him. Seeing Julius come back was shocking, but very exciting, too. And Razim makes an incredibly chilling villain, with his absolute disregard for human life and his desire to measure pain. Also, seeing Smithers’s house was so much fun. Smithers in this book was just really fun in general, but he’s really fun in every book, so... nothing unusual there. But also, I want an unwelcome mat. Please?

2. Eagle Strike

‘But Penny,’ you might ask, ‘why is this book so high on your list? It has so much of Sabina in it, and you said she annoys you.’ That is true. What does not annoy me, however, is basically the entire rest of the book. I love the tense opening, and then reading through Alex’s real-life ‘playthrough’ of Feathered Serpent is still one of my favorite scenes. Cray is absolutely incredible as a villain, with the way that he truly believes in his cause--which is undoubtedly a good one! Yet the extremes to which he will go for that cause, and the fact that he very nearly succeeds, are what elevate him to one of the most dangerous villains in the series. That scene with Charlie Roper and the nickels is something I can never seem to stop thinking about. Actually, I think about it basically whenever I think about large amounts of money paid in small increments...

Also, I really enjoy how he gets into the whole plot in the first place, and I really enjoy Smithers saying ‘ah, fuck it’ and helping him out anyway. Go, Smithers. You once again prove me right in saying that you’re the coolest adult in MI6.

The revelation that Yassen knew Alex’s father is one that absolutely blew my mind first time around. The way his life was threaded into the lives of the Rider family--he worked with John Rider, was saved by him, killed Ian Rider, and then died for refusing to kill Alex Rider--wow. Wow. It gets to me. It really gets to me. This book is a masterpiece. I heard that it’s going to be what the second season of the TV series is based off of, and I’m so hyped for that. We love to see it, we really do.

1. Scorpia

I don’t believe anyone who says this book didn’t get to them at all. I just think they are lying. I don’t think it’s humanly possible to not be affected by this book. God. Just thinking about it reminds me of why I don’t think it’s possible. I mean, come on. We get all this backstory about Alex’s parents, we get tricked along with him into thinking MI6 killed his father, then bam, that was a lie, and Alex may have just fucked himself over big time. Also, that plot is terrifying! (And I bet anti-vaxxers had a field day with it, huh.) Julia Rothman is a really great antagonist, one of the only ones who didn’t go and explain her plan in great detail to Alex--the fact that she didn’t actually being a plot point was something I personally found pretty clever. In general, this book is... I tend to hate when people say they ‘can’t put it down’ because it’s usually an obvious exaggeration, but that really is how I feel reading it.

And again. If that ending didn’t get to you... Well, I just think you are lying.

#alex rider #spoilers

33 notes · View notes

wonderlustlucas · 4 years

Text

lost - pjy x jw

⇢ prompt “Just a little lost.” ⇢ pairing park jinyoung x jackson wang ⇢ word count 1.3k ⇢ genre fluff ⇢ warnings none ⇢ summary “How about a cute night conversation fluff between Jackson and Jinyoung? Just something fluffy and cute I guess? :))”—request

No matter how comfortable he may be, sprawled out on his stomach with his face nestled in the space between two pillows, Jinyoung cannot ignore the incessant vibration of his cell phone against the wood of his bedside table. Leaning up on his elbows, disoriented and blindly reaching for the nuisance of a device, he distantly curses himself for never purchasing an alarm clock on Amazon so he could power his phone off for bed. Not that he finds himself receiving calls every night just as he’s fallen asleep, but still.

Bringing the phone closer to his face, Jinyoung grimaces at the harsh light and squints hard to read the caller ID. Just as he’s done so, it feels as if his heart comes to a careening stop, limbs suddenly heavy with unease he doesn’t quite understand. Then, his heart rate picks up in a panicked frenzy and he taps the green icon without a second thought.

“Hello?”

“Oh, shit. You answered,” Jackson answers. While hearing his voice, rasped and groggy, somewhat calms Jinyoung’s nerves, such a reply has him frowning.

“Of course I answered,” Jinyoung snaps, tone laced with annoyance. He quickly mutters an apology. “That’s what friends are for, no?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Jackson hums. Then, a long pause that leaves Jinyoung forgetting to breath. “I’m sorry for calling so late. I just needed someone to talk to and you were the only person I thought of.” Jinyoung finds this hard to believe. Not only is GOT7 family, but Jackson has a handful of friends who care deeply about him. Nevertheless, he finds himself smiling at the revelation, rolling onto his back and switching the call to speaker mode. “It’s no problem,” Jinyoung assures, “I was only playing Valorant.” He lies.

I miss you, is what he almost says.

Jackson laughs, though it sounds a little tired. “You sure about that? Sounds like I woke you up.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jinyoung grumbles with a roll of his eyes, “why did you call, anyway?”

Again, a long pause. Jinyoung’s starting to get worried he is going to be told something he isn’t prepared to hear. “I don’t know, honestly,” Jackson admits, quiet enough that Jinyoung has to strain to hear him. “I guess I knew you would actually understand what I’m feeling.”

“And what are you feeling?” He asks, voice shaky.

“Just a little lost, I suppose,” Jackson sighs, and Jinyoung finds his brows furrowing in confusion. Jackson? Lost? Always confident and taking up new opportunities with gratitude and elation, Jackson is the last person he expected to feel such a way. “Overwhelmed, too. This business is so competitive these days, y’know? Here and in Seoul, we continuously have to get better, do this, do that, follow the current trend while also trying to figure out what the next will be. I feel so greedy. We’ve been so successful and I don’t want to ever lose what we have. But then it gets so tiring, and I realize I’m not happy like I used to be, just going whichever direction I’m being pushed. And I start to forget what my purpose even is, anymore.”

Jinyoung has to pause and really mull over what Jackson has just told him. Sure, the seven of them have spent countless nights discussing such stresses and hidden fears, but never has he received a phone call from one of his bandmates at almost two in the morning. Especially not Jackson.

“Jackson,” he begins, struggling to find the right words somewhere in between actual good advice and bullshit he doesn’t need to hear, “it’s okay to feel greedy when this is our job. By nature, it’s a competitive occupation, and as long as it doesn’t get to your head, sometimes you need to have that greed, and even a little arrogance, if you want to keep that success.”

Jinyoung pauses incase his friend wants to speak. At the silence, he takes it as his cue to continue.

“But you can’t let it take your happiness away. Humans are kind of like computers, we work and work and work, and then we overwork, we refuse to backdown from competition, and then we break. We’re like computers in a lot of ways, but we can’t multitask like they do. No matter what, Jackson, you have to work with what makes you happy. You’re not going to find your purpose again until your happy.”

“What the fuck? Are you a philosopher or some shit?” Jackson laughs, but Jinyoung doesn’t miss his sniffle or the choked sound of his words.

He shrugs, trying to fight a smile. “No. I remember learning about how our brains are like computers in psychology, though.”

“Sounds like an excuse a philosopher would say,” Jackson snorts, followed by a loud huff. “Hey, thank you for that. Are… Are you happy? Have you lived by that same advice?”

Jinyoung purses his lips, closes his eyes and hopes he can find the words to how he truly feels. Is he happy? With his career? Himself? Friends? Family? Love life? Well, maybe not that last one, but that is not something he can necessarily explain to Jackson, of all people.

“Yes,” he decides, “of course there’s stuff that makes my life difficult, y’know. Like JYP. But I love making music, I love performing, I love acting, I love our fans, and I love you guys. I once felt like you right now, though. But then I realized there’s no point in caring about what other people think of you, good or bad. It all depends on how you feel, how you work, and what you want to do.”

Jackson makes a noise of understanding. “You’re a real wise one, you know that?”

Jinyoung chuckles, rolling onto his side and staring at the screen of his phone, trying to picture what Jackson is doing right now and almost wishing he had FaceTimed, instead. Is he in bed, too? Has he been crying a lot recently? Sleeping well, or are the bags beneath his eyes puffy and blue? These are all questions he can ask tomorrow, he decides, realizing with a sag of his shoulders just how much he misses his friend. Friend.

“I’ve been told that once or twice, actually.” “Oh? What enlightening advice have you given before?”

“Told them how they should keep in touch more often rather than calling mid-breakdown in the middle of the night.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jackson grumbles, chuckling nevertheless. “I’ll keep that in mind, though. You sure I wouldn’t be a bother?”

“No! Of course not,” Jinyoung fires back a little too quickly, “I’m home by seven every day and have nothing to do, I’d appreciate the company.” Cringing, he prays the underlying nervousness in his voice isn’t noticeable, oblivious to how this has Jackson feeling warm and fuzzy all over. “Well, alright,” Jackson says, then, much softer, “thank you, Jinyoung.”

“Don’t thank me, I wish you called me sooner,” Jinyoung replies, “you take care of yourself now, Mr. Wang. Text me tomorrow. Or call. I’ll always be here for you.”

For the umpteenth time in the five minutes of their call, silence, albeit comfortable, settles over the pair. Longing, he would call it. Content, Jackson would. “Well, then, I’m off to bed. Goodnight, Jinyoung. Hopefully I’ll see you soon.”

“Goodnight, Jackson.” Jinyoung hums, deep in thought. When Jackson hangs up, he finds himself staring sadly at the lock screen of his phone before finally moving to plug it back into its charger on the table. Puzzled, maybe a little at the call and maybe a little at the way he feels, Jinyoung settles back into bed and stares absently at the ceiling. As he said, he has always been on top of every aspect of his life—physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, and everything in between. This, however, has left him doubting everything he’s tried convincing himself of the past few years.

Thirteen hundred miles away, Jackson’s mind feels clearer than it had half an hour ago. The problem, however, is the tradeoff: his heart feels much heavier than it did before, and for reasons he isn’t ready to figure out.

He’ll deal with that tomorrow.

40 notes · View notes

dulcidyne · 4 years

Text

Experiments in Diplomacy: Compiling [8/?]

There’s nothing in the Interspecies Diplomacy subsection of the Initiative handbook that covers sharing a tech lab with an angara who can kill her in her sleep. She knows, she’s read every page. Twice. (A collection of in-between vignettes from the Tempest tech lab)

//Jaal x Ryder // Humor. Romance. SFW // Previous chapters: [1][2][3][4][5][6][7] or read on Ao3

Somewhere along the way to age seven, in Citadel docking bay 223, Se-ah Ryder decides crying, hugs, tantrums, and other public displays of emotion are things she has outgrown. Perfunctory, precise, she shuts them away as if embarrassing emotional habits can be sealed into donation boxes for young needy children in the Lower Wards like her half-melted asari dolls.

Donated or lost, the box she puts them in stays shut. She doesn’t cry when they pay their respects to her grandmother’s urn at the columbarium. Or, much later, in another docking bay, when Scott waves goodbye as he ships off for Arcturus. She doesn’t cry the first time Iraenya plays down their relationship to her colleagues, embarrassed and ashamed. And when her mother dies, she takes a page out of her father’s book and finds a hospital supply closet and stifles her tears into her shirt collar.

It stays shut, that is, until now. Until twenty-eight uninterrupted minutes of sobbing into Jaal’s chest, followed by forty-one additional minutes of sporadic weeping interspersed with flailing grasps at composure. So, obviously, there is only one logical conclusion to make.

“Just run them again,” Se-ah hisses.

“Once again, Ryder, my scans do not detect any pathologic neurological patterns outside of baseline variation.”

She woke up to the dim ambient glow of the powered-down machine displays running through their background system scans, half-reclining in Jaal’s arms, in his cot, having cried herself to sleep in his embrace like an infant--that alone is an abnormality. She doesn’t understand why SAM is having difficulty with the concept.

“Outside of baseline,” she pauses, the gnarled tangle that is her hair fluttering as Jaal’s snores gust over her head. It tickles her temples but she doesn’t want to dislodge the warm arm banding around her shoulders to brush it back. “Wait, SAM, does that mean you normally detect pathologic patterns?” “It exceeds my functional parameters to parse this data into a clinical diagnosis. It would be unethical to make an attempt. Dr. T’Perro would undoubtedly provide better insight.”

Maggie’s lights pulse unhurried staccato patterns from the corner. Se-ah stiffens in Jaal’s loose embrace, indignant. “ Unethical. You’re an AI integrated into my entire body. Little late to be worried about ethics isn’t it?”

“A relevant point. I additionally lack subjective expertise. My data collection is limited to two genetically similar individuals. It is therefore relatively impossible for me to extrapolate what is normal and abnormal outside of overt structural dysfunction.”

“Further,” SAM says, “I am not an inert observer. It cannot definitively quantify what impact my integration and ongoing observation and interaction has had on your baseline neurological state.”

Disquieting. Se-ah stills and attempts to parse this new revelation while Jaal’s chest rumbles against her ear like the purr of a massive but very contented kitten. It’s nice. She wishes she were still half asleep and allowed to enjoy it and not awake and mortified over her predicament. Mortified and now, thanks to SAM, horrified.

“So not only can you not tell me if my brain is broken, you’re also saying that just by being in my head, you’re changing how it works and doing so in a way that you lack the ability to detect? Like some kind of quantum observer effect?”

SAM doles out a calculated pause for her benefit. All his pauses are for her benefit as he processes information in nanoseconds, but this one feels especially so. A pity pause. Bad news pause.

“Correct.”

“Great,” she mutters, “I’m Schroedinger’s basketcase.”

“My scans do detect significant decreases to harmful neurological metabolites and reduced cortisol levels...likely the product of sufficient rest.”

So that’s what it is. No creaking limbs, phantom aches or raw fatigue scraping the inside of her eyelids raw. A loose, shivery sensation clings like mist in her chest. It feels like a lungful of the air on Mr. Orleal, saturated in starlight and the ozone tingle of the eezo deposits under the lake.

Melatonin has nothing on Jaal. Lexi would be thrilled. Happiness flutters against her ribs. She hides her smile against the vast sloping ridge of Jaal’s alien chest even though there’s no one else there to see how foolish it looks. A familiar scent tickles her nose and she sniffles back a sneeze. He smells warm and herbal, like grapefruit orchards and Earth sunsets--carnelian, blush,and gold-- if Earth sunsets prickled in her sinuses like wasabi.

As far as smiles go, this one caught on the precipice of a sneeze, feels the stupidest.

“Pathfinder, if you have a moment, I would like to discuss some of the data I obtained earlier…”

The tentative flutter of joy in her chest curls inwards on itself, recoiling. She screws up her face, tipping her head back over Jaal’s arm, his r ofjinn bunching up against the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck.

“SAM, I don’t want to waste all this beautiful mental clarity on parsing out my emotional breakdown.”

It’s not fair and she regrets saying it. He provides more than his share of explanations for her and this is supposed to be a reciprocal relationship after all.

“That classification is interesting, Pathfinder. Noradrenaline phasic signalling was decreased, indicating the absence of a stress response. You rate the subjective experience, however, as a negative one?”

Half the words don’t even sound familiar. Despite being the daughter of a neuroscientist, she picked up precious little on the subject. Latching on to what she understands, she attempts an answer.

“No. Not negative. The opposite, I guess?”

“I see.”

She absurdly pictures SAM fitting the L of his imaginary thumb and pointer finger to his imaginary chin in a gesture of academic interest. Her father used to do that, unwittingly providing Scott with ample ammo for his ‘Alec Ryder, mad scientist’ impressions.

“This supports my observations of the intense activity within the mesolimbic circuit--”

Se-ah winces. “You know, it’s pretty weird to hear all the gory details.”

“I do not comprehend the discomfort.” SAM states, an echo of her father’s scientific fascination faint in the synthetic voice modulation. Her own imagination, she’s sure. “Your emotions are best described as the limited interpretation of this signalling process.”

For some indefinable reason, she bristles.

“Maybe technically, but...it was this amazing, overwhelming experience and it didn’t feel limited . It felt...immense. Bigger than anything. Like I couldn’t possibly keep it in without bursting and then I did burst and apparently that looks like a lot of crying.”

Ugly crying. There was a not-small-amount of snot involved.

“It’s more than mesolimbic circuits,” she persists, words coming faster and her voice tightening, “Sometimes things are more than their physical, observable state. When I’m on a summit, what I experience isn’t just snow and stars and rocks...it's…well I wouldn’t bother with it if that was all I got out of it. Look, I don’t think I could ever explain it in a way you’d be able to understand.”

The channel goes silent, longer than the normal exaggerated pauses SAM inserts into his responses. The silence is deafening on the heels of her tirade. As if he’s...affronted.

“Thank you Ryder.” SAM says at last. Clipped and professional. Is it her imagination or is it too professional? If there were such a thing? “I will attempt an analysis with this feedback in mind.”

Se-ah nods, unnecessarily given that it is SAM, her heart sinking. Who knows what havoc a peeved AI could wreck in her brain, apparently without either of them any the wiser? And if she can’t explain it to SAM she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to explain what happened to Jaal. Not that she didn’t try before, during all the sobbing, but it was impossible to get anything out that wasn’t ‘I’m fine, I just...’ before dissolving into tears again. He didn’t press her for more.

But maybe now that she isn’t an emotional wreck, he might. Whether she has answers is less certain.

‘Sorry, SAM says you overloaded my mesolimbic circuit and that it’s all very scientific and reasonable and I’m not crazy. Or I might be. Have you heard the human folk tale about the cat?”

Awful. The shivering sensation in her chest unfurls again and spreads out into her fingers. She furrows them into the crease of Jaal’s side and the cot, letting his warmth soothe the trembling overtaking her frame. His arm wraps tighter reflexively. This is the sort of moment she wants to soak in, slow, like sunlight filtering through leaves stippling ancient Morse-code patterns over her face. Eyes closed, she inhales and vague memories sift warm impressions on the backs of her eyelids.

Hands, scarred and calloused and massive sweeping soft, reassuring circles against her back. His chin on the top of her head, her face tucked into the graceful sweep of his neck where a crook would be on hers. A low thrum: his voice, unintelligable, but soothing. A musical hum buzzes through the air.

Se-ah sighs and blinks her eyes open to glance up. He’s still deep asleep, snoring away. A hazy, contented smile gathers at the corners of his mouth and makes him look, for all the universe, like someone having a pleasant dream.

Despite spending the vast majority of her waking moments on the ship in his makeshift bedroom, she’s never seen him this way. The quiet of the ship is unsettling, he claims. Unlike his naps on the NOMAD, the only sleep she sees him take on the ship is fitful, almost violent--covers twisting, his hands clutching, face grimacing, the names of the lost wrenching out of him as he jolts awake. But even the sleep he snatches on the NOMAD doesn’t look this peaceful. It takes him quick and fast, like something joyless and inevitable. She grimaces. Like death.

Studying his lidded eyes, she shifts on the cot to lean her weight more on his chest and tip her head back, peering up at the sweeping planes of his cheekbones, the point of his chin, and the fine ridge of his brow. He’s beautiful. All angara are, to her eye-- all grace and noble carved profiles like ancient Athame sculptures given color, life, and a Romanesque bone structure. But Jaal’s beauty is sharper, more defined than anything out of asari or human antiquity. War and grief etch his face in a landscape of visible and invisible scars, throwing the softness that remains, obstinate and miraculous, in high relief. The softness is all she sees now. It is the face of a man who dreams, hopes, composes poems and perfumes, and is always seeking, searching, finding bits of wonder. If it weren’t for the kett, this might always be his face and Andromeda would be a place where it would fit. The dreamer. The tinkerer. The explorer.

But the kett stole that place away from him. War is spare. Merciless. There is little room for anything else but soldiers. Se-ah bites the inside of her lip, hard. Jaal is the first to insist he isn’t much of a soldier.

She doesn’t realize the snoring stops until he, without bothering to open his eyes, asks, “Yes, Ryder?”

Chagrined and surprised over how close she’s gotten, she immediately jolts away. “You’ve been awake? How long?” The slant of his smile changes but his eyes stay closed, “Long enough. Were you under the impression that you were being discreet?”

Fair point.

“So why didn’t you say something?” “I was trying to sleep. Speaking seemed counterproductive.”

“Uh huh. To your eavesdropping, maybe.”

Jaal doesn’t look at her, on account of the fact that he’d yet to bother opening his eyes, but the resigned set of his shoulders conveys a beleaguered expression that comes with an air of ‘No, I don’t think I’ll even bother ’. It’s one he wears around Liam with regularity. “Please do not attempt to explain that one. If I cannot sleep I’d much rather occupy my mind elsewhere.”

He makes a point of settling further into the cot, the large divot his body forms in the fabric deepening. Maybe he’s trying to free up the arm underneath her she realizes, belatedly. Renewed mortification crowds up her neck and she coughs to clear her throat. “Oh, then I should...leave you to that then,” she says, cheeks burning as she draws back against the gravitational pull of his weight on the cot, narrowly avoiding toppling on top of him.

“Stay.” At last Jaal blinks open his eyelids, a slow reveal of vivid blue. He looks at her, uncharacteristically uncertain, before saying, simply, “If...you’d like. You could join me.”

She hesitates. “Join you--elsewhere?”

“No, just here.”

Somehow he feels...closer. Not physically. It’s as if the gap in the universe between them has vanished overnight. She’s no longer on the precipice, her thoughts and feelings a faint, distorted comm. She’s there , a few bare centimeters in front of him and he’s looking at her as if he can see every detail of her with absolute clarity. It’s dreamer’s look with a tinkerer’s focus and his eyes are luminous, twin helium nebulae lit from within with something like wonder. She mistook it for morbid fascination once. This time she knows better. He smiles as if he might laugh. Fond. Unbearably so. Her chest hurts to look at it.

“No idioms, nothing else. Just this. Right now.” The words linger, rippling against her skin in gentle, rumbling waves. Jaal crooks his pinned arm and brushes back the fluttering snarl of her hair.

A quiet bubble settles around the tiny cot, enclosing them within the warm, sunset smell of him. It feels safe. Like home. She doesn’t know the last time she felt those things. Not since-- It should be strange to find them here, an entire galaxy away, with an alien who openly spoke about killing her after they’d just met.

Jaal’s huff of a laugh skips across the quiet like a smooth stone on a lake surface. Something about it tells her he’s picked up on the precise turn of her thoughts--too perceptive by half. “You know, you are remarkably expressive. Almost angaran.”

She tucks her face into the slope of his neck and pulls a scowl, even though it isn’t an insult. The memory of her tragic poker loss to Gil is still all too fresh and she feels a little too raw, a little too exposed with nowhere to hide her vulnerabilities. Instead of answering, she buries a noncommittal sound into his bare skin.

He laughs again, rueful and soft. “It was a clumsy effort, but it was intended as a compliment. We are a vocal people. More than words and expressions. In addition to combative and deliberate communication uses, our bioelectrics have subtle subconscious patterns and pulses. I believe your hanar are similar, in the visible electromagnetic spectrum. It is difficult to suppress. Few have scrupulous reasons to try.”

His fused fingers twine into her hair. It seems a point of endless fascination for him. Even in the Milky Way, hair is something of a novelty.

“The emotions of those around us pervade all our senses. It saturates our lives. My first days on this ship were so...disorienting. I felt the absence keenly, like a limb lost in battle.”

Her scowl vanishes and she looks up to meet his eyes again. Of course, she’d suspected his trouble adjusting, but never knew the full extent. He kept so much hidden then. “It must have made it that much more difficult, deciding if you could trust us.”

Jaal laughs. It sounds pained. “Very. I learned to look harder, with time. There is a beauty in subtlety. Underappreciated among my people, but I’ve grown quite fond of it. Humans were easier. And then, there was you.”

“About as subtle as a flaming ship crashing on your planet?”

Genuine mirth threads into his laughter, his eyes tracing over her upturned face. “Yes. An apt comparison. Vivid, exciting… deeply alarming to some.”

She brightens and his smile deepens. The hand at her temple curls against her skin to brush a soft line over her cheek with the backs of his knuckles.

“It made trusting you more easy than wise, considering the risk.”

“I’m sure Evfra disapproved,” she says.

“Of course. Evfra is a cautious strategist. He despaired of me.”

Jaal leans his cheek against her head, looking off towards the dim ambient glow of the machines running through their downtime routines.

“My caution was always a feeble force and your face...says such beautiful things. I didn’t understand why you struggled so desperately to hide them away.” He adds, blunt as ever, “Not... well, of course . But with an extraordinary amount of effort. I imagine it was exhausting. Inexpressibly painful. My heart ached just to see it.”

The corners of her eyes begin to prickle. Machine lights catch on the dust motes, adrift on the flickering electrostatic currents weaving around and between them, setting each pinpoint aglow like rippling eddies of distant stars.

“I thought the same about you, you know. Before we rescued the Moshae.”

Caution shackling his expressions and the strategic withdrawals into clipped one-word answers calculated to give as little away as possible. She’s more glad than she can say to have earned his trust and the chance to see his genuine self without the fetters of fear and uncertainty. He said getting to know her would be a gift and that is how knowing him better feels--like the best gift she didn’t even know to ask for.

He nods. “Yes. I wept for joy that she was safe and for the wrenching horror of what we learned that day but also I wept for my freedom from my own fears. Escaping them was...liberating despite my grief. Cathartic. I think perhaps you felt something of that same freedom. Earlier, when you cried.”

Catharsis. Freedom-- but from what? She wasn’t on a diplomatic mission with alien intruders. She was just-- her . A touch-starved awkward hugger with a trigger-happy mesolimbic circuit. But, that feels insufficient as far as explanations go. Instead, she remembers Scott crying, wailing, hands fisting over his eyes. It’s gone. I have to find it. People are looking. Mom ignores them and kneels despite the crowd, attempting to soothe him. Alec Ryder’s stonefaced expression fractures into a grimace. Pained. He turns away. His hand presses down on her own small shoulder and squeezes. It feels like pride. She forces her chin to stop quivering. She won’t cry. Nothing will ever be okay and everything is wrong but she is Alec Ryder’s daughter and she is old enough to do that much.

A tear slips into her hairline and Jaal’s thumb rubs it away. Breath held, she reaches up between them to capture his hand in her own. His eyes are full of reflected stars, twin galaxies pulling her into their inexorable spin. At the point of her outstretched fingernail is a pinprick of light, fanning off, faintly luminous, refracting off her tears.Se-ah pauses, taken aback, blinking away the moisture collecting on her lashes. It’s not a trick of the light. Her fingertips are actually glowing. And, she realizes, the air is...humming.

“SAM, are we about to fry anything with this corona discharge?” she asks. All at once the air changes, the charged dust motes around them still and the lights on her fingertips flicker out. It smells and feels like a storm just swept out of the tech lab.

“Appropriate precautions have already been taken to accommodate non-combat angaran electromagnetic field manipulation, Pathfinder. Ozone levels are also within acceptable limits.”

Jaal coughs and looks away, suddenly awkward. “Ahh...as I was saying, it requires some concentration to suppress.”

“Can you stop? Concentrating that is? It’s not as if--well, SAM said it wouldn’t hurt anything.”

Now that she’s paying better attention, she can feel the tingling pressure building and shifting around them. The hairs stand up on her arms. The air smells bright and clean. Light collects on her fingertips again. Faint, but visible. Se-ah laughs, delighted, and slowly bends her fingers, watching the blue flicker and reappear. Ionized plasma balancing on the edge of an electromagnetic field pierced by the short point of her nail. Hardly seemed subtle in her book. Little about him was.

“We call this St. Elmo’s Fire,” she tells him. “It was considered a good omen by ancient human voyagers.”

“Ah. I’m your good omen then?”

“Well, we haven’t crashed once since you got here.”

He brings his free palm to hers, one fused, two separate for her five. She adds, sincerely, “It’s beautiful. Does this happen to you a lot? I’ve never noticed before.”

“No. This is...it’s more. It is special. Explaining would be difficult. Clumsy. I cannot do it justice.”

Hands pressed together, his palm dwarfing hers, a swell of emotion courses through her and a stubborn tear traces down her cheek. She laughs and a sniffle turns it into a tremulous, hiccuping burst of happiness.

“Is there a word for it in Shelesh?”

“No,” he says simply. “There is just this.”

Churning waves of electrons are crashing against her fingertips, caught in the lunar pull of him. Everything dissolves in the watery film of tears and she’s floating, falling, swept by tidal forces into an endless depth of variegated blue. There can be no words, in Shelesh or any other language. But she knows anyway. Floating in an electron sea of his design, palms pressed, wrapped in his embrace--she knows exactly what he is saying.

#jaal ama darav #mass effect andromeda #jaal x ryder #jaal romance

12 notes · View notes

unluckyadept · 4 years

Text

…You Can’t Deny All That You’ve Done Wrong

[As soon as Piers had left, Felix collapsed from the weight of his guilt and crushing emotional torment, overcome by conflicted feelings.

He had dreamed—truly dreamed—something VERY similar the night before; it had given him a deep sense of relief and unexpectedly peaceful sleep.

He had been left confused, at first, and then disappointed, when he woke from the dream and went to see if it had actually happened—only to see that his calligraphy scrolls had been left untouched, meaning it had been only a dream after all.

To be given such peace and have it proved to be only his own wishful thinking had filled him with a heavy heart, resigning to a sense of sorrow; he had been certain then and there that he would not hear anything for days, at best, and he was quickly losing hope he would be offered a chance of reconciliation.

So when the man himself came merely minutes later—when he had already become distracted with the duties of drawing up business documents related to his property in Prox—he had been more than a little surprised that it was unfolding so very like what little he could remember of the dream.

It was much sooner than he had expected, and certainly more positive and forgiving than he deserved.]

[The tormented Adept put his face in his hands, overcome with guilt so heavy that he could physically feel weight on his chest making it more strenuous to breathe.]

“Why are you still at a loss?”

[Echo’s presence—let alone his response—was entirely unbidden, but Felix did not react to it in alarm; for the Djinn was, at times, truly like an echo of himself, or of some aspect of wisdom and understanding.]

“You WERE told that he was probably going to be receptive to a clear apology, given he cared enough to ask how you were doing in the first place. So why is this such a big surprise to you??”

[Felix forced himself to draw up to his feet, speaking in a deep, harsh tone that was extremely forced.]

“I can’t see how—”

[Echo hopped twice at this, completely drowning out the end of that sentence as he talked over the Adept.]

“Well obviously you have a problem with that! Why do you have such a hard time believing anyone would forgive you, period?!”

[Felix pressed his mouth into a thin line at this, cold and dark.

But it only held for a moment before he forced the tension to drop—and it did not take much effort to push from bracing himself in some semblance of composure into a drop to sheer exhaustion. It was so much, in fact, that he sat down.]

“I can’t… can’t remember a single time previously where anyone truly forgave me… and ever since I was forced into exile, I have gone to great lengths to not be in a position where it would be necessary.”

[Echo was quiet for a moment, before speaking with a tone that suggested a bit of VERY gentle correction.]

“…Your memory isn’t very good. I know for a fact this is not the first time you’ve had a breakdown between then and now. Not even the first time within the span of the last year.”

[Felix scowled at that.]

“Fine; I can’t remember it getting nearly that INTENSE, alright?”

[There was a brief pause before he spoke up again, voicing an afterthought.]

“…The thought that I could be forgetting something as bad as THIS is absolutely pathetic and utterly miserable.”

[Echo hopped again, somewhat exasperated.]

“You’re missing the point!!”

[Felix gave something of a sullen expression, but then just turned and looked away.]

“I hadn’t expected it.”

[There is another pause before he continues, though he sounds increasingly tired as he does so.]

“…It’s not that simple, Echo; breaking trust just can’t be repaired that easily. People can choose to react with mercy, but… it does not make the pain go away…”

[He fells silent, becoming lost in his own thoughts and memories.]

“…I understand what it means to be hurt by someone you cared about, someone you trusted.”

“It happened to me before—and I had forgiven them… only for them to betray me again when I needed them the most.”

“I can only imagine the pain that it has been for me for all these years; I can’t IMAGINE anything ELSE, Echo! The pain is the only thing I know!”

[He pulled a hand down his face, holding it over his mouth, his eyes reflecting a burning guilt.]

“So—I could only imagine, once I was mentally sober enough to realize that DESPITE my efforts, I had gone WAY overboard…”

[…He could only imagine Piers must have felt the same way.]

“I can’t… I can’t let this happen again…”

“Oh please, Felix. Be real, here.”

[Felix shot him a dark look, but the Djinn was unfazed by it.]

“You’re only human. Demanding the impossible of yourself will only make you miserable—as you should well know by now, given you already do that!”

“I don’t WANT it to happen again, okay!? I need to be responsible enough to do EVERYTHING I can to prevent this from happening again!”

“Yeah, working in a healthy manner on your communication skills would be the responsible thing to do, but you aren’t in any state to work on that right now. You aren’t going to get very far with getting better since you haven’t really accepted his forgiveness.”

[At first, Felix was very confused—but as it struck him, he was very sad. He looked away.

It was true that he hadn’t rejected it, but he hadn’t quite accepted it yet, either; he still was thinking and acting as if it hadn’t happened the way it did—because he didn’t deserve it.

Echo settled on his shoulder, responding to the unspoken revelation.]

“Maybe. But Piers obviously doesn’t think so.”

[Felix put his face in his hands, blinded by anguished confusion and the deafening memories of the past.

It had been ages, but he JUST couldn’t forget the WORST part of his life.

He knew it wasn’t reasonable, and it wasn’t healthy, but—]

“I STILL MISS THEM!”

[He had started, and he couldn’t stop—]

“I wish it had never happened!”

[He wasn’t really talking to anyone in particular anymore.]

“I still wonder what they’re up to, from time to time—! I used to be TERRIFIED that they would hunt me down, or be the source to take away EVERYTHING good that has been given to me since; I was haunted day and night with how poorly they thought of me, how that would be the only thing they would remember, the only thing they would EVER talk to anyone else about—! It took me years, YEARS, and for the LONGEST time, Piers was the ONLY person who showed me ANY sort of kindness after that had happened!”

[Those dark days were behind him, and he was no longer consumed by that shadow the way he once was. But still, to the present day, even now—every so often he felt burdened by a sense of loss.]

“I wish… I wish that I could… could share the joys of my life with my former friends as well. I… I wonder, in unguarded thought, what they might—what they might say, what joys they experience in their lives.”

“I wish… I just wish we could… could enjoy each other’s company again…!”

[…All the while knowing that no matter how much time had passed, no matter how distant it seemed to be, how tempting it was to believe that they would not break his trust yet again and betray him yet again…]

“Had… had to resist the urge to look back. And… at this point? Even if it were possible, and not just wishful thinking… it’s far too late. We’ve drifted apart—and I, at least, have grown apart—and I doubt… when I am honest with myself, I doubt they would be interested. They’ve moved on without me, and they’re… probably happier for it, glad to be rid of me, no longer having to put up with me. And I can’t stay in Angara anyway; the persecution is far too much. I would have to live my days constantly groveling in submission—directly or indirectly—for ‘what’ I am.”

[He SLAMMED his fist against the wall, sending a shockwave of Venus energy through it.]

“Since no one there cares about /WHO/ I AM!!!”

[He sinks down to the floor again, trembling from the strain of failed efforts to keep himself together—although he was trying his very hardest to regain composure, he’s so deeply unhappy to the very core of his being.

He barely survived the loss the first time; everything fell to pieces, and he would have to live with the pain of the betrayal and abandonment his entire life. He couldn’t go back—they didn’t want him, and they didn’t care. He would have thought that by now, the pain would go away—but he was starting to suspect that even as the span between the stabs of curiosity would grow and grow, it would never truly go away.

Because he didn’t really hate them; for better or for worse, he still cared about them, and he missed them terribly. He could still remember when they would laugh together—it was so happy, so familiar, so close that it was hard to reconcile with how badly it had ended.

It was already hard enough to carry the weight of loss for a case where he had been betrayed multiple times.]

[Carrying the weight of loss for a case where someone who actually DID care and had saved his life—]

“Can’t…”

[He just couldn’t take it.

He broke again into exhaustion, too worn out for a descent into despair.]

“Just… can’t…”

[It just didn’t seem to him that he should be so eager to go back to the way things were, as if it never happened—because it did happen, and he didn’t want to reject the responsibility of his actions, forcing (or allowing) Piers to shoulder the weight of his explosive despair.

That was what had happened with Isaac—he had, despite being haunted by how Isaac had turned on him at Venus Lighthouse, forgiven the man, and even grown to trust him again, and Isaac had seemed so genuinely apologetic, even though he clearly didn’t understand exactly how much he had hurt the unlucky Adept. And that made it even worse, in the end—and he wouldn’t readily wish that kind of suffering on anyone else. To be responsible for it, himself—he couldn’t allow that to happen.]

[But at the same time, Piers had shown him mercy… and to choose actively to dwell on the pain of guilt was not only self-centered, but also a stubborn refusal to reconcile—and to that end, an act of cowardice. Cowardice, because it WAS easier to be silent, to retreat into himself… because that was what had been so harshly beaten into his psyche—that it was unacceptable to show pain, as people either didn’t care, told him that it was his own fault and he deserved it, or else were hurt and afraid.

And yet he knew it wasn’t true, that silence wasn’t the answer. Again and again, that is what those who cared about him now had told him, and over the years had convinced him enough to be vulnerable around them—he had to trust.

He had to trust.

He had to…

And he knew, in believing so, that he did—as the blinding pain became dying embers, he knew…

He accepted his friend’s forgiveness, and was grateful for the chance at reconciliation.

But first?

First… before he could really face Piers again…]

youtube

[…he somehow had to forgive himself.]

#cje #still relevant #unluckyadept #Golden Sun: The Lost Age

3 notes · View notes

tiaragqueen · 5 years

Text

Tiger By The Tail

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Kim Taehyung x Gardener!Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,5k+

✂ Trigger Warning: Obsessiveness, possessiveness, implied death

✂ This story is fictional and for amusement only. I don't believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.

[Edited]

***

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

"The taste of love is sweet. When hearts like ours meet, I fell for you like a child. Oh, but the fire went wild.” - Ring Of Fire [Johnny Cash]

A human’s desire knows no bounds.

It was a fact that Taehyung used to deny when he first laid his eyes on you.

You were a young woman; having been fired from your recent job and short on money. You didn’t have any particular skills, yet by some pure luck, you managed to land yourself as a new gardener in Kim's estate. It was laborious work, but the payment was worth it. As expected from the prestigious Kim family. Moreover, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so you’d be a fool to miss it.

Due to your inexperience in gardening, you were prone to small accidents like scratching on a thorn or spraying your shirt with the hose. You weren't necessarily a klutz, as told by his butler when he recounted your interview.

However, Taehyung was well aware that he was the cause of your sudden clumsiness. Or rather, paranoia.

Taehyung had been watching you since your very first day of working through the window of his room; initially intrigued with the new addition in his house. Although he might seem aloof and indifferent, Taehyung still paid attention to his staff. He was, after all, the oldest son of the Kim family. Sooner or later, he would replace his father as the head of the family. If he was ignorant of his own servants, then how would he be a good leader for the employees later? Never mind that he wasn't particularly fond of his father's decision, but tradition is a tradition.

Yet the fact how you were still oblivious to his figure that kept standing behind the glass like a watchman was surprising and amusing at the same time.

But Taehyung was a straightforward man. He was never the dreamer, nor was he taught to be one. He was the doer; the one who actively made decisions. He wasn't the one who 'go with the flow'. He was the maker of his destiny.

Taehyung needed to see you in person; to stand and breathe in the same air as yours. It was funny how he seemed to be worshipping the ground you walked on when he could have any other woman with a flick of his fingers. He had the perfect face to make them drop their skirts off and the covetable wealth. Besides, you were just as plain – even unnoticeable – like the rest of his servants.

But of course, he had a tunnel-like vision when it came to you.

Ah, the effect of love at first sight... Something that he used to scoff at for its silliness.

This unquenchable desire was what prompted him to approach you for the first time after weeks of observing and wondering. Noticing and studying every little quirk you consciously and unconsciously did. Wishing and daydreaming about the future that included you, him, a couple of kids, a cozy house in the countryside, and a pet or two. You could even plant some plants if you wanted, or trying your hands in simple farming.

And God, he didn’t regret his choice one bit. The prelude of the many encounters to come.

Even though you wore a green apron over a plain white shirt and blue jeans, there was something remarkably attractive to you. The way your bare face – free from any makeup he was used to seeing in his everyday life – was sweaty, you still looked ethereal. Like an angel that descended from Heaven just to bless his sight with her beauty alone.

“Hello,” he spoke up with his deep voice that never failed to surprise anyone, including you. You clumsily dropped the hose that you used to water the plants and bowed.

“G-good afternoon.” you stuttered. It wasn’t until you noticed just who had personally come to see you until you stood with mouth agape like a fish out of the water. Taehyung was no stranger to such expression, but to see you act like that was strangely endearing. It made him feel... proud.

It wasn’t as if he was planning to impress you either, yet he still felt happy for some reason.

"You'll catch a fly if you keep opening your mouth like that." he teased. An indescribable warmth spread across his chest when you blushed and looked away bashfully. Just as he predicted you to.

Ever since that day, Taehyung had taken the time in his busy schedule to get to know this amazing woman that had captivated him. He learned that you were fired for exposing the company’s secrets, despite your fruitless attempts in defending yourself. It wasn’t until a few days later that your boss finally captured the real culprit, and had issued a formal apology to you. You’d forgiven them, regardless of the tiny resentment that still lingered, but refused their offer to work for them again.

Although Taehyung was exasperated with the unfair treatment you’d received - how did they just blame you for such a cruel crime without proof? - your rejection had eased his burning anger. Taehyung discreetly relaxed, satisfied with your decision. How could he not? Had you accept their proposal, then surely he wouldn’t be able to meet you. And that was something he couldn’t and refused to imagine.

You also told him a bit about your past - after days of insistent coaxing from him; you didn't know why he was so adamant about learning it - like your mother’s illnesses, for example. It broke his heart when he saw your eyes teared up a little at the mention of her laying in bed, tended by your siblings. Through this revelation, Taehyung could see the exhaustion that sagged your eyelids or the occasional glaze in your beautiful irises.

You were exhausted, both mentally and physically.

Taehyung bit his lower lip. Why didn't he notice this before? He felt like a terrible boyfriend now...

In an attempt to 'fix' his mistake, Taehyung offered you a job as his secretary with double payment. You were honestly tempted to take it – with such a high salary, you could pay the hospital bills quicker – but something in you had prevented you from doing that. Although you admitted that you felt a bit paranoid lately, you didn’t know if you were ready to take on such a huge responsibility.

Or maybe you were just lying to yourself because really, there was something suspicious from him. Sure, he was nice and all, but this little voice inside your head kept telling you to watch out for him. And frankly, his presence alone always made your nerves skyrocketed despite him regularly accompanying you.

But of course, you being you, ignored all the little hints until it was too late.

It was one gloomy day when Taehyung noticed a silver ring on your finger. Particularly the ring finger. You told him, with a small yet jubilant smile in your face, that you were happily engaged. Taehyung fell silent, speechless with the answer despite having been dreading it beforehand. You were his girlfriend after all, and obviously, he wasn't prepared to hear that kind of response.

But if there was one important thing he learned from being a businessman aside from the boring stuff, was that you couldn’t always wear your emotions on the sleeves. And Taehyung did exactly just that.

He smiled the same boxy smile and congratulated you, paying no heed to your surprised countenance. Only those who look deep into his eyes would notice the hidden and dark intent behind his so-called 'support'.

In the next few days, you came to work bleary-eyed. You made a lot of mistakes more than usual, and you were sensitive to even the slightest scold from the butler. Taehyung, noticing your depressing mood, pulled you aside, and gently asked the reason. You couldn’t even say more than three words before you broke down in his embrace, the reality of your fiancé being dead becoming too much for you to bear. Taehyung happily accepted the inevitable breakdown and cooed comforting words into your ears.

You were so vulnerable; so deep in grief until you missed the tiny smirk that graced his exotic features. Or the brief beeping sound that notified him about the successful mission of killing a certain man.

But Taehyung didn’t care. As long as he had you in his arms - caressing your messy hair like this - nothing else mattered anymore.

To hell with sins and guilt. You were the love of his life. His soulmate. You were lucky that his love was the only thing that prevented him from forcing you to watch your fiancé's horrifying torture.

Because Kim Taehyung was cruel like that. His mysteriously handsome face disguised a wicked man, willing to do anything it takes to make the love of his life as his.

At least, you could learn to love him now. Even if you didn't, then he would have no problem threatening you to stop paying for your mother's hospital bills, essentially killing her with stress and deteriorating health. Or even guilt-tripping you for everything he'd done for you.

Whichever worked the best.

Outside, the sun finally showed herself in the overcast sky after she went into rather long hiding.

#yandere taehyung #yandere kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #yandere bts #yandere bangtan seonyeondan #yandere au #yandere taehyung x reader #yandere kim taehyung x reader #yandere kpop #yandere one-shot #yandere v x reader #v x reader

368 notes · View notes

clansayeed · 4 years

Text

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 17: The Show Must Go On

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Because tomorrow is no longer guaranteed the gang decides to spend a night at the theatre. In which Cal despises Shakespeare, Garrus and Krom go on an unofficial first date, and Taylor confronts his father.

[READ IT ON AO3]

He’s honestly surprised the director even bothers reaching out to him.

“Given everything your cousin has told me about the problems you have going on right now, I’m sure this isn’t really a surprise. I’ve taken the liberty of filing a personal leave of absence for you.” And Taylor just knows that was the happiest day of Antoni’s life…

“Even though you can’t be in the show, though, you’re still welcome to come Sunday. Hoping that, obviously, things have cleared up on your end by then. Just text me your head count before noon day-of, okay?”

It’s the first real and true good thing to happen without immediate consequence so far. And of course he tries to blow it off, tries to tell everyone he has absolutely no plans to put anyone else at risk just for the selfish sake of seeing a play he’s worked on for months and doesn’t even get to be in.

Not that anyone lets him finish before they straight-up tell him he’s wrong, he’s going, and if all hell breaks loose then they’ll deal with it when it happens.

“But the wards —”

“The wards have proven themselves useless,” Garrus interrupts with no small level of frustration; accepting the vulnerability of his sanctuary hasn’t been easy on the man, “we’re just as exposed here as you would be there. And I refuse to cower in fear. If they were going to attack they would have by now — don’t stop living your life because of what might happen.”

Surprisingly, too, Katherine makes a good point; “We might actually be safer surrounded by all those mundanes. A high fatality rate isn’t what the Elders are after, that much is certain.”

It’s about the only thing any of them are certain of.

So there’s really no way around it.

Sunday morning he tries to take a head count. Doesn’t argue when Vera, despite the dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes, insists that of course she wants to come. She doesn’t say it but its obvious she could use time away from the hospital and her mother’s bedside.

Nik’s phone vibrates on the table and Taylor glances just because he’s nearby. On really good timing the man chooses then to wander out from the bedroom — rubbing his hair vigorously with his towel.

“Kathy said she and Cade are down if we don’t mind.” One look and Taylor regrets it so bad. He’s not certain, but there’s absolutely no way all of his shirts have miraculously shrunk, right?

He totally has to buy them just shy of too tight.

Not that Taylor’s complaining. Nope. No complaining here.

Ryder gives a noncommittal grunt and shrug as he passes. “Your shindig, your choice.”

“I mean they’re our friends, so…”

There’s a pause; a lag in the matrix if you will, between when Nik stops in front of the fridge and actually opens it. Keeps his back turned as he replies, “Then the more the merrier.”

He doesn’t need to be part fae to know what that’s about — but it doesn’t hurt.

The concept of friends is plural and consistent. And just as weird for him as it is for the loner Nik is accustomed to being.

Yesterday was hard and heavy.

Today is no better from a cosmic point of view.

But its softer around the edges; the difference between being stabbed with a wicked sharp dagger and being punched in the face.

Nik all but flops down on the couch beside him; pushes the open guide on reading and interpreting tarot that Taylor’s been pouring over away with a socked foot.

“I was reading that.”

“Oops.” The only unapologetic apology he’s getting, too, so he takes it.

Its been nearly twenty-four hours since his emotional breakdown and in that time he’s learned more about Ryder — and vice versa — than would have been shared on five, six dates tops. Things that wouldn’t come up without specific and out-of-left-field context, too.

Like the fact that Nik is a cheap-ass (this he knew) who has a serious case of the moonlight munchies — two things that mix about as well as oil and water. So it makes sense now why half of the fridge’s sparse contents are signature drink and cocktail add-ons.

Does it justify the fact that a fully grown man is sitting very close to him popping green olives like pieces of candy? Not in the fucking slightest.

But he knows what’s going to happen the second Nik sees his disgust — tries his best to turn away before he’s caught. Only he’s not quick enough and its too late.

“Want one?” Nik asks even though he knows the answer.

He doesn’t have time to deflect because the man picks one up and tosses it — doubles over in laughter when it bounces off Taylor’s cheek, falls to the floor, and rolls under the nearest chair to die alone.

“What are you,” he fake-gags and wipes his cheek angrily, “twelve years old?”

His glare very nearly breaks under the sheer audacity of Ryder’s pouting face. Only nearly because there’s no fucking way he’s kissing that offensive mouth no matter how closely the man leans in. “Aw c’mon Rook — jus’ one kiss!”

“Get away from me! Ew!”

“You know you like me~”

“Wrong! Incorrect! You disgust me!”

And of course they’re joking but he’s maybe a little too loud in his protests. Earns himself a haughty snort and a glare directed at his feet of all things.

“You walk around barefoot and I’m the disgusting one.”

“That’s what I said.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Uh, I do — so I win.”

Despite the fact that they had spent the previous hours getting to know not only (truly repulsive) snacking habits but also (much less repulsive, like the opposite of repulsive actually) one another’s mouths, Nik follows the same pattern each time. Roams his eyes over every inch of Taylor’s face like he’s gung-ho on taking the test in his sleep — drags a fingernail feather-light over the scruff on his jawline.

Their first time hadn’t been enough to ward him away and for that Taylor’s pretty fucking grateful. But it left a mark on him. No doubt its the reason why he always takes five whole agonizing seconds between the start and the follow-through.

Like he’s giving Taylor time to pull back; to reject him without consequence.

Maybe one day they’ll laugh about it. A silly habit no longer necessary. Because there’s always a breath hidden in the meeting of mouths that tastes of bitter relief.

Nik is relieved — not once, or twice, but every single time.

Which is more than a little tragic when he gives it a deep thought. He tries not to — really, he does.

Its easy not to think about anything at all when they’re kissing.

So that’s something.

Taylor knows that glamours serve a specific purpose; to disguise the average not-human supernatural person among the average yes-human person.

He’s even come to terms with how easily they fade into the background now. How he can scan a crowd and catch a glimpse of hooves in place of boots or a tail whipping its way behind someone trying to pass by. He considers his largest achievement to be not jumping ten feet in the air at the difficult-to-describe sight of ghosts possessing glamoured bodies.

But he can know and process all of these things and still be almost alarmingly paranoid about the trio of Krom, Garrus, and Ivy waiting in line behind them, right?

Nik grabs his head before he can look back for the umpteenth time; turns it back forward with a grunt. “The only one looking weird here is you, Rook. Everyone else sees regular folk.”

And he knows that, he does. But… “Do you ever stop worrying about it, like, slipping or something?”

“Not my problem if it does.”

“Well yeah, but…” The line shuffles forward and he trails off. Probably better not to give those particular anxieties a life of their own by voicing them aloud.

He doesn’t have to anyway, apparently. Since Taylor finds himself pulled against Nik’s side, feels warm breath tickle in his ear.

“Don’t worry. You still look completely human.”

“For now.”

The performer playing Puck stands in half-costume at the front of the line with a clipboard in hand. He has a whole two-point-five seconds to remember her name — Dana? Debbie? D-something. D-something… fuck there are too many D-something names! — before its their turn to enter the theatre.

Daphne! It comes to him like a holy revelation as she starts to go through the motions — only to notice the name and double-take in surprise.

“Hey Hunter, how’s it going?” Her small-talk is strained but polite. They’ve run lines together and he can vaguely recall being educated on her literal herd of mini dachshunds once, but whatever his ‘cousins’ gave by way of excuse for him pulling out of the show is enough to make her sheepish.

He makes a mental note to corner Garrus for the full story after the show. Especially since ‘cousin’ is a more-or-less accurate term these days.

“Uh, you know,” a one-shouldered shrug, “hanging in there. You excited?”

To her credit as an actress she checks off each body accompanying him, all eight of them, without batting an eye.

“Totally. I’m just glad the actual opening night ain’t until Mardi Gras is over, you know?”

“Director didn’t let you work the beads into your improv then I take it?”

They share a laugh. She waves them inside.

Only when they’re around a corner does Taylor let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Vera gives him a nudge. “You okay?”

“Yeah — was it just me or was that…”

Cal pokes his head in between them. “Awkward as hell? No—it wasn’t just you.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

In less than a week he’s forgotten how to, well, be human. Socialize with humans, talk casually with humans. Its unnerving — not only that but it serves to remind him by the way the Coven and their pet skeleton assassin are still out there.

None of this is even close to being over and he’s already forgotten small talk?

What else might be lost along the way?

“You look like you’re thinkin’ too much about something.”

Taylor’s smile is strained and not enough to ease Nik’s doubts. What did he expect though; that one soulful look from those fathomless eyes, or a touch that sends shivers down his spine, or one of those disarmingly sincere smiles is all it would take to make him forget his worries completely?

If only it were that simple. Not that he’s turning any of those things down — no no, he’s free to keep trying as many times as he’d like.

Its a half-full house on purpose; one full run in front of a crowd before a week of changes to make the final thing as smooth as possible.

And it was supposed to be Taylor’s time to shine; a performance of understudies. He’s told himself there will be other opportunities, that this is for the best given what’s going on. He wanted to come to support his fellow actors — to celebrate in all the work they’ve done over the last few months.

He didn’t think it would be that hard to watch. Then the space goes dark and silence falls in a warm velveteen hush.

The trio of Theseus, Hippolyta, and Philostrate take the stage — a different blocking than what they used at his last rehearsal.

The heels of his palms are pressed hard to stop his tears before Theseus even opens his mouth.

To his left Vera lets out a soft noise; both sad and comforting as her tentative hand on his shoulder turns into slow circular motions on his back. And he knows the heat-leeching palm behind him is Cal. Cal didn’t even want to come — had made it very clear there was once a school play, a bad batch of cafeteria vegetables, and a lifelong aversion to Shakespeare whose details would never again see the light of day. But there he is giving comfort where he can. He’s probably glad for something else to focus on than the stage but he knows Cal by now — knows he does nothing without meaning to do it.

Just when Taylor’s sure he’s going to have to make a mad dash for the doors, however, a familiar hand slides into his. Nik’s focus is still intent on the scene unfolding but he squeezes his fingers and doesn’t seem to care about the tears between their palms.

He’s supposed to be up on that stage. He’s supposed to be sweating under the heat of the lights and praying to the thespian gods that the tape on his mic holds fast. He’s supposed to be giving the performance of his life to an audience of friends and loved ones knowing Kristin was back in New York, that his mother couldn’t make it, and that there was no one watching that was there just for him.

Instead he’s here in the crowd. Instead he’s surrounded by friendship’s concern and holding the hand of the guy who seems to be making it a habit of standing in between him and certain death.

Instead he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

When the lights slide back on for intermission Cadence whirls around in his seat, arm thrown over the back, to practically barrage Krom with questions about artistic representation, choices made and things changed.

It feels a little bit like being back in a college classroom. Not the first time Cade has that effect on people.

“I — I really only helped with small stuff,” the stone troll stammers his protests, “heavy lifting or working on things normal people couldn’t reach.”

“But you’re a writer are you not?”

“An amateur at best…”

But the vampire isn’t having it. “Nonsense, I’ve caught snippets of your work. I only mean —”

“Ugh, just humor the man will you?” Katherine groans, rolls her head back on her own seat with a lighthearted glare between the two.

Nik pulls Taylor’s attention away from their talk with an arm around his shoulder. “How’s it so far? On the other side of the stage.”

“They changed a few things —” — more than a few, and more to do with Oberon than any other character so three guesses who made that call — “— but I honestly just keep counting their steps for the blocking.”

“Nerd,” scoffs the man, and Taylor isn’t exactly going to deny it.

Actually, since they have a second…

Last he knew, being borderline psychic was his thing, not Ryder’s. But Nik’s moved his legs before Taylor even stands and makes him backtrack real quick on that.

“I figured you’d wanna go say hey to them, or whatever,” and though that’s the spoken explanation Taylor can’t stop himself from feeling the real intention behind it.

He just cares.

He ducks his head to hide a flushed smile; murmurs “thanks” and lets his lips linger at the corner of Nik’s mouth as he shimmies into the aisle.

Only when he’s at the door does it occur to him that this thing between them is a recent one, and they’ve not mentioned things like public affection. But judging by the look he throws over his shoulder — catches Ivy hitting the man on the arm repeatedly and the bewildered grin on her undead face?

Its just another thing to tease him over.

Its standard stuff; the small lines by the bathrooms, crew members in their all-black ensembles bustling this and that around. All things he’s familiar with — that he doesn’t bat an eye at.

Then he spares a glance — less than that, actually, calling it a glance is somehow generous — down one of the hallways leading to further seating. The lights are off, the doors no doubt locked. Makes sense for an audience this size.

He doesn’t know why he does. Only knows both suddenly and all at once who he’ll see in the shadows beyond.

Taylor wants so badly to just ignore it. To reach out and knock on the doors to the maze of back rooms and do exactly what he planned on; congratulating his fellow performers.

But he doesn’t.

By now Taylor’s helped Garrus enough in the bottomless pit he calls a storage room to know that fae folk don’t ‘glow.’ They just always look like they do.

Elric, too, looks like he snatched a few moonbeams for himself on his way inside.

The shadows don’t retreat from him but they are withered by his presence; by the aura of him. Had he looked like that in Lamrian, as natural as light itself? Or was he witnessing yet another new facet to his senses brought on by interference of the man who really shouldn’t be here.

When Taylor opens his mouth to speak nothing comes out; a dozen questions all fighting to leap from the tip of his tongue and giving him pause.

Finally he settles on something more akin to an accusation.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

He doesn’t mean to wound the fae Lord — but also won’t deny that the recoil of remorse he gets in response isn’t a teeny bit satisfying.

“No, I should not.”

“Glad we agree.” Of course he wants to ask why are you here but he shouldn’t have to.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t. “I caught whispers of this event within your mind. Lines from a script, a dedication — a pride. I wished to see what it truly was. Living Memories are shaped by the person to whom the memories belong.”

And here he had thought he’d be spared of a headache tonight, of all nights.

“I — what I — there’s so much to unpack there,” and nothing amused in his dry laugh either, “so we’ll start with the fact that I didn’t do a—a Living Memory-thing. I don’t even know how.”

“To accept Memories is to offer up your own.”

“Gee, that would have been nice to know.”

“Do not blame yourself —”

“Oh, I’m not. No worries there.”

“I should have explained it to you. Not then; not in such dire times.”

“Then when?”

“Long before now.” Elric’s eyes are like diamonds; diamonds twisted into sharp, construction-grade drills trying to puncture holes straight through him. The intensity is unnerving if he’s being honest.

About as unnerving as getting what he’s pretty sure is a ‘More Proactive Parent’ apology from this guy he literally just met the other night. Not even a guy — a fae.

Elric reaches out as if to touch his hand. The movement is enough — breaks Taylor from his little trance so he can pull back. Pale fingers instead close around air and grieve their mistake.

“I did not like the way things were left in Lamrian, Taylor.”

Taylor — like he has any right to say the name he chose all on his own.

“That’s your problem. But yeah, I can see how refusing to help your own son to save yourself might leave a bad taste in your mouth.”

It’s a very nice burn, high five kind of moment right up until the shadows creep up onto the fae’s expression. “I have the safety of an entire community to put first. Forgive me for prioritizing my life’s work and the many lives under my care over the child who only seems to acknowledge our connection when it suits his insults.”

Damn… nice burn… high five…

“Are you, Taylor?”

He swallows the lump in his throat. “Am I what?”

“Are you acknowledging me as your…?” He leaves it hanging there, juicy bait in murky waters. And Taylor isn’t starving — not quite yet — but he’s definitely not full either.

He glances back to the theatre atrium.

The background noise is quieter down here but soon enough everyone will be heading back to their seats. No doubt the curtain won’t even be fully opened before Nik is bounding out the doors to find him.

“Look, Lord Elric…”

Who acts like the title brings him pain; “Please, call me —”

“— I’m not calling you Dad; or Pop, Father, or any variation thereof —”

“If you would listen as often as you speak. I would ask you to call me Elric.”

Even that feels like a boundary they shouldn’t cross. What good is to come of being friendly, getting to know one another — especially when he’s facing the very likely chance of being dead by Tuesday?

On the other hand, whispers a voice in the back of his head, what’s the harm in getting to know your actual father — especially facing the very likely chance of being dead by Tuesday?

First, how rude can you be? Second, nobody asked you, rude little voice.

But after several dragging moments of internal arguing the voice ends up winning. Still rude though.

“What do you want out of this, Elric? What did you hope to gain from coming here?”

He looks almost affronted. “I wished to… connect with you. You are… my child. A miracle I had not even believed let alone known of.”

My child. Two simple words that ring in his ears unpleasantly.

“My plate’s full enough. I don’t know if I have room for ‘connecting.’”

“Would it not be worth trying?”

Taylor throws his hands up in exasperation. “Maybe! Fuck — maybe… maybe if I wasn’t so scared of dying. Or if I thought I had the time. But whatever the Coven Elders are planning it’s —”

Elric’s eyes widen, but that isn’t what cuts him off. Every hair on his body stands up at the same time. Without a chill, without a touch. It’s a feeling; powerful and consuming and coming from the fae Lord.

“Oh right,” because Elric refused to help and they’d gone to the Elders and that was that, “you don’t know. Yeah, the Coven’s the one who summoned the wraith. It’s a whole thing — I don’t have the time to go into it and I kinda don’t even want to because tonight was supposed to be one last attempt at normal but joke’s on me I guess.”

“You will make the time.”

He’d consider going at him for trying to use what he probably thinks is a tone of fatherly authority on Taylor — if it wasn’t so strikingly familiar. Commanding the wisdom and strength of his years both gone and yet to come. It demands respect, to be heard and the weight of every word understood.

Its the Elric he’d met for the first time in the Beau-Keyes Garden, and its kind of a relief.

Would have been useful yesterday, though.

He sums the encounter up as best he can; keeps throwing looks back over his shoulder as a sort of passive-aggressive-meets-non-confrontational way of saying he’s being held up.

And yes, logically he should be happy Elric is changing his tune no matter the reason. But he’s petty and spiteful and hey, nobody’s perfect.

By the time Taylor finishes Elric is already deep in thought — strings of thought becoming ropes, knots; an intricate web displayed across his entire person with just a look.

Another one of those looks he’s seen in the mirror, actually.

But they’re just thoughts. Not actions. He doesn’t need to be a little psychic to know that.

“No doubt my breath would be a wasted one were I to ask you to return to Lamrian with me.”

Elric means well — but that doesn’t make it any better.

“What, like — leave my friends behind to die and abandon the entire community that doesn’t even know what’s coming for it?”

He doesn’t say anything; doesn’t have to. “And—And what would I do,” continues Taylor, “just hang out with you and your wife, maybe do something productive like learn the pan flute or whatever?”

“This is not a matter to make light of.”

“You’re damn right it isn’t!” Fuck it, he’s shouting and doesn’t care who hears now. “I can’t believe you. Cowering in safety alone is one thing but to try and drag me down with you? That’s messed up; you’re messed up.”

“You do not know of what you speak — of the centuries our kind spend trying to conceive.”

“I’m not one of you.”

“You are, denying it hurts only yourself. By all accounts you are a miracle, Taylor. But children among the fair folk are few and far between. So for you to stand there — to twist my words as though they mean nothing…”

It’s a little hard to keep his composure when Elric’s voice cracks. It doesn’t make any of it okay — not by a long shot — but there’s a wrongness to that tone normally even and cultured sounding choked with emotion.

He even tries to swallow it down. It doesn’t work. “I have seen the cost of bravery. And to see you so passionate — so determined to fight this battle that I am certain was never meant to be yours. It ensnares me in a way you cannot yet understand. Pride overtakes me, yet I am made immobile.

“I have seen enough in my life to know when fighting is parallel to dying. No matter how brief the battle or noble the purpose there are some forces that cannot be overcome.”

He takes Taylor’s hand. Clammy and cold and he tries to hide it but Taylor knows the effects of a panic attack from personal experience that no matter how refined the otherworldly creature is you can’t always hide the tremors in your fingertips.

Like before he feels a tug in his gut. Something hooking into his center of gravity and puling him, or his essence, closer.

Hears the fae clear in his mind; terrified, heartbroken, too much.

I could not bear the sight of you among the casualties. Do not ask it of me. I beg of you.

Over-thinking about the heartbreak in every word, about the things he can’t possibly understand that allow Elric to feel so much and so hard for a person he doesn’t know — it’s not a luxury Taylor can afford right now. And not just because the emotional depth it requires might very well bring him to tears again.

So he squeezes that pale grip tight, the only solidarity he allows himself to muster, then lets go.

“I can’t.”

“Taylor —”

“No, really Elric, I can’t.” He steps back; creates distance between them both physically and on a deeper level. “I wasn’t supposed to be a part of this — I wasn’t. I’m only being targeted because of you; because I’m your son. You know what the Elders called me? They called me an ‘unseen complication.’ And up until right now it’s really bugged me. By all accounts I’ve not made anything complicated except for the lives of my friends.

“But maybe I’m not done yet, you know? Maybe there’s more for me to do. Probably not, let’s be real, but I have to try. Nik— Nik is trying, and he’s never done that before. Kathy and Cade don’t have any stake in this but they keep trying because they’re good people. Cal wants to make this city safer for his brother and Vera… she could have run back to New York at any time but she hasn’t.

“I’m not gonna stand here and say I fully understand what’s going on. But that doesn’t mean I should cut and run. I think its because I don’t know jack-shit that I can do the most good. Or, you know, at least try to.”

He falters at the end; never one to finish strongly in situations like these. Would he like for Elric to stay, to try like the rest and do some good — of course.

But any part of him left hesitant about his involvement is gone now. So he can thank the fae for that at the very least.

Wow, is this what emotional growth feels like? That warm feeling in his chest spreading out to the tips of his fingers and toes, the pride in his actions, the sense of accomplishment however small?

Kristin is going to be so proud of him when she wakes up.

He doesn’t realize he’s waiting for Elric to respond until he inhales deeply. Looks Taylor over with those same eyes somehow changed. Like he’s really seeing him for the first time.

“You are brave — braver than most.”

“No I’m really not. But I’m scared enough to want to do something about it.”

“Very well. Whatever you wish to call it… the quality is an admirable one.”

“You should try it out sometime.”

“Perhaps you can show me how, one day.” But not this day.

That’s it then. The arguing, the impassioned speeches, all of it and Elric still plans on hiding.

Fine. He’s done trying to make the man see reason.

“I’m gonna get back to the show — my company’s worked hard for this and even though I’m not up there, I deserve the chance to see it through.”

Just as resigned as he had been in Lamrian, Elric closes himself off when he tucks his clasped hands in his sleeves. Beautiful embroidery becoming his wall against the world.

Against the terrible things about to happen.

“You will find no time has passed,” he says to Taylor’s surprise, “I had hoped you would return with me. The chance to say farewell to your companions was the least I could offer.”

Implications aside… “Thanks, I guess. I’ll see you around, Elric.”

“Nothing would bring me greater joy.”

He’s halfway down the hall when a definite something comes over him. Is there such a thing as too much emotional growth? It tastes a little bit like he’s downed a shot of vinegar.

It makes him turn back; it knows the other man is still there — watching.

“You risked your life coming here — in person.”

Elric nods. “Yes.”

“All the things you’re staying out of the fight for; your people, Thalissa — if the bloodwraith showed up…”

“I knew the risk.”

“But it’s temporary, so that makes it okay.”

“What it does it make it a risk worth taking.”

“There it is then…” and Taylor almost can’t believe he’s saying this, but — “Come on, there’s a few empty seats in front of us. You can take one of those.”

Maybe he’s spent enough time in the fae’s presence now to understand and see every emotion he expresses. Small flickers and ticks in facial features — and that’s being generous.

Confusion. Contemplation. Understanding. Surprise.

And more than a little heartbreak.

“The longer I stay here the greater the chance of discovery by the creature.”

“Yeah, well you’ve been here a pretty long time already. What’s an extra hour or two?”

“The difference between life and death.”

“A fair point. Counter— you wanted to spend time together, Pop.” He pops his lips on the word. And funnily enough that seems to be what does the job.

There was no reason to doubt Elric’s truthfulness but he’s still relieved when they walk back into the theatre and the curtains are still drawn.

It would be helpful if someone turned around to see them; if they warned the others. But unfortunately (for Garrus) it’s a complete surprise when they greet his return… with company.

“Look who I found at the concession stand.” Taylor throws his arm around Elric’s shoulder and squeezes for the humor of it. Shit he probably should have asked if the man had a glamour.

Well, no one’s staring or screaming yet, so probably a good sign.

The general aura of confusion is broken by Garrus who, impossibly enough, looks more pale than usual. Beside him Krom is halfway reaching out; as if to shield his unspoken crush from Elric’s unseen wrath.

“Hey there, Rook,” Nik’s look of ‘what the literal?’ doesn’t stray from the fae’s ethereal glow, “thought you were goin’ backstage.”

Because this was his fault? “Oh, I was. But then I got to thinking — it’s a friends and family viewing so, you know, why not call my estranged father Elrond?”

“Elric.”

Sigh. “I know. It’s a joke.”

Elric nods. “Ah, I see.” No he doesn’t, but that’s not the point. Actually that he doesn’t is what makes it a little bit funnier.

But Taylor realizes quickly that he’s made a mistake in just assuming this would be okay. Garrus has never been quiet for this long and it makes everyone a little on edge. What happens when the man who always has something to say falls silent?

“You look well, Gallus.”

Garrus flinches violently at the name; at Elric’s attempt to cut through the tension. “That isn’t my name and you know it.”

“It was once.”

“Not anymore.” Garrus looks to Krom in surprise. Its the most intimidating the gentle giant has ever sounded. Though rage literally flickers as flames in Ivy’s cursed eyes she manages to look at him with pride.

It seems Taylor isn’t the only one who’s grown as a person tonight, though. As the discomfort rises to an almost stifling level the Lord bows his head, speaks somber and its enough to make everyone take a breath.

“I wish not to intrude on your time, Garrus,” Garrus who reaches absently for something to ground him and finds it in Krom’s hand clasping his, “only to take what precious moments my child allows me to possess.”

Way to push the blame on Taylor.

Taylor who struggles for something to say; an apology, a get out of here, anything. “I didn’t — I mean I — Garrus if —”

He raises a hand and Taylor’s glad for the opportunity to bite his tongue. Finds relief in the fact that Garrus still manages a smile his way.

“You couldn’t know. And it doesn’t bother me, honestly —” — especially not when he has Krom’s hand to squeeze where the seats separate their thighs — “— as long as my old landlord respects his boundaries, and doesn’t have an ulterior motive.”

“I do not.”

“Pinky swear?”

Elric doesn’t understand and it shows; some kind of power move Garrus relishes in by grinning at the laughter that ripples through them and breaks the tension.

The room grows dark as the company prepares to resume. Taylor awkwardly (and if he’s honest, uncomfortably) ushers Elric into the seat parallel to his a row forward. Close enough to count as ‘spending time together’ while also glad to be a buffer between his fae father and Garrus.

Velvet curtains pull apart with a flourish. Just before the cast begins Taylor manages to lean back and give a real apology to his friend.

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked first.” He whispers.

Garrus places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Really, darling, no big deal here.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky.”

He can’t remember the last time he made any promises so important as pinky promises. But he and Garrus link little fingers and exchange small smiles just in time for Titania to begin her lines.

With a deep breath of courage and only after finding Nik’s hand in the dark he leans again, forward this time, and directs Elric’s attention to the performance.

“Okay, so quick recap. There are four lovers, right, Helena who loves Demetrius, who loves Hermia, who loves Lysander, but the thing is…”

#nightbound #choices nb #playchoices fanfiction #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #katherine nightbound #cal lowell #vera reimonenq #oc: cadence smith #garrus #ivy #krom #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

2 notes · View notes

absentlyabbie · 5 years

Photo

Flommy. Soulmate AU of sorts. Kiiiind of canon divergence, very loosely.

First, the canon divergence:

So all the pre island shit still happens. Rebecca Merlyn dies when her son is eight years old. Her husband abandons their child to gnash his teeth on a global tour and develop his plan for class warfare and eventual class genocide. Thea Queen is conceived and born. Tommy Merlyn grows up under neglect and contempt as his father manipulates and strong arms his fellow one percenters into committing to his deeply shady undertaking, becoming more criminal and morally bankrupt the deeper they all get into Malcolm’s plan. Oliver Queen grows up lost and misunderstood and acts out as badly as a rich white boy can until he’s looking to sabotage every relationship he has (that isn’t with Tommy) because he doesn’t like himself and doesn’t know who else to be.

Instead of boarding a boat to China that Malcolm sabotages, setting into motion the chain of events that make Ollie into the Hood, the Queen men elect to fly. (Not sure yet how Sara is involved but she probably is; also the flight thing might not be how it goes down) and Malcolm has them kidnapped before they reach the airport.

It’s a huge national story. Billionaire CEO and playboy heir abducted and missing for three weeks. No calls for ransom. No leads. So many tabloid stories being nasty at Moira and about Robert’s history of infidelity.

Meanwhile, Oliver and Robert are held at an obscure facility as both are interrogated and at times tortured, as Malcolm seeks to know how, he believes, Robert is planning to betray him.

Robert gives away nothing, but two weeks in, Oliver is in terrible shape, often tortured to try and break Robert. Robert in their cell does his shitty confession and putting his burdens on his son, making Oliver memorize names and dirty deals and connections and giving him cryptic clues to a cache of incriminating evidence against Malcolm and all the others. Then Robert makes a half assed escape attempt, wresting a gun from a guard and trying to force them to set them free. When it’s clear that won’t work, he apologizes to Oliver and shoots himself in the head, hoping that with no more reason to hold him, they’ll let Oliver go.

Oliver, crazed by grief and days of torture, violently assaults the remaining two captors, disabling one. Little does he realize the authorities have found them and the FBI sweeps in just as Oliver finishes beating a guard to death.

This helps get him into the situation that comes next.

Oliver ends up turning state’s evidence. To protect his mother and sister, to get revenge for his father, and because he is threatened with a trial by agent Amanda Waller.

So, traumatized, changed forever, and on a mission, Oliver can’t bear to return to Starling. When Tommy tries to visit him, before it’s known it was Malcolm behind it all, the encounter goes very badly. Oliver is dark, angry, obsessed. They feel impossibly far from one another. Tommy goes home heartbroken and feeling abandoned again. Oliver pursues revenge disguised as justice. This however leads only to more pain.

Two revelations come at the same time: his mother was as deep in as his father and therefore could be subject to prosecution, regardless of the pressures that put her there. Also, at last, the man behind it all. Malcolm Merlyn, his best friend’s father.

Oliver knows this will destroy Tommy’s life. For that alone he would hesitate. But. But. Malcolm is poison. A monster. And he has only one chance to broker a deal to save his mother, and giving up Tommy’s father is it.

And so, the Undertaking is averted, but its full scope revealed to all. Malcolm is arrested and charged. Oliver could only bring himself to tell Tommy at the last minute. The two are in such hurt and anger they do not speak for the next few years. Still, Tommy does testify at his father’s trial. For the state. He corroborates details and speaks to Malcolm as a father: cold, cruel, exacting and contemptuous. Tommy is dragged in the press plenty on his own. The final nail in the coffin of it all is when Malcolm flies into a rage at the Merlyn house the last day of the trial and almost kills his son.

Malcolm is sentenced to life in prison for numerous crimes, including conspiracy to commit domestic terrorism and attempted murder of his own child. In prison, soon after, he is killed in a prison riot (actually dead or orchestrated disappearance? Who knows.)

Meanwhile Tommy is left to grieve and process and pick up the shattered pieces of his life. The Queens leave Starling, and Oliver becomes almost a hermit to, like, bodybuild and try to psychologically heal and hopefully stay out of Waller’s clutches. Tommy stays in Starling, his trust and assets and inheritance tied up or seized at large by the federal government, the board of Merlyn Global desperately seeking a rebranding or possibly overall firesale, and the city and world in general associates his last name with violent class hatred and corruption.

Years pass. Oliver and Tommy don’t talk. Oliver does not return to Starling. Tommy regains fractions of his fortune over time, maybe opens a business, definitely opens several clinics, charities, and nonprofits across the city. To some he is a hero, a prince of redemption. To others he’ll never shine bright enough to be free of his father’s shadow. Laurel is his good friend and he has been quietly repressedly in love with her for some time, and doing nothing about it.

Now, the concept:

Soulmates happen, though they’re referred to as soul bonded. They’re not always romantic relationships. It’s a metaphysical bond between people uniquely suited to understand, support, and be complemented by one another.

Being bonded is not a given. It happens, not infrequently, but not so much so that everyone can assume it will happen to them.

Being bonded also doesn’t mean there can’t be breakdowns in the relationship. It’s still something you have to choose to work at. Being bonded just means really that this is a person so well suited to being a vital part of your life, why wouldn’t you choose to work at maintaining it?

So. The way it works. You encounter a person who is your bond partner in the wild, and a mark appears, typically near the chest region, often over the heart or center of the sternum (anomalies do occur.) You can’t miss it because it appears with a feeling almost like you’ve been branded, and it’s described by those who experience it as an electric current tethering you suddenly to your bond partner. You become hyper aware of them.

To outsiders, the bondmark is unmistakable. They couldn’t draw it or describe it in detail, but there is something visceral in the human brain that recognizes it, and recognizes when they match. Even when directly photographed, this holds true to observers.

In this way, bond marks cannot be copied or forged. They cannot be imitated with tattooing or obscured by scars or burns.

(Because even in stories I’ll never write I go hard on world building.)

The bond does confer certain unique connections. Not like telepathy or viewing through one another’s eyes or walking in dreams. But that hyper awareness of your bond partner doesn’t go away. It’s almost an empathetic awareness. It hums, and it carries non verbal understanding, and it feels most settled and right when the partners are together and spend time with one another as best suits who they both are and the dynamic they establish between them.

New bonds are tricky. They are intense and absorbing, and can even be uncomfortable and strange and almost obsessive at times. This newness can last for a period of typically three to eight weeks. This period is referred to as “settling.”

It’s the time during which the new bond through physical and psychological stimuli encourages the new partners to get to know and become comfortable and familiar with one another.

This is typically characterized as a time when new bond partners have difficulty focusing on things unrelated to their partner for long stretches, and a need to not just be in each other’s presence, but often physical contact. This may mean cuddling, sitting closely, thoughtless, casual intimate touches. Ignoring or denying these settling urges can lead to physical discomfort, anxiety, and emotional and mental distress.

Bond partners who are romantically or just physically suited often get rapidly intimately involved during this period, though that doesn’t always mean it will stay that way, and it’s not a given.

(You can be bonded to more than one person, of course. Multiple people can even be bonded to each other. For now the idea is Flommy but let’s not pretend OT3 isn’t always an option with me and it’s definitely an option this concept allows for.)

That’s the other thing, though. First: bonds do not manifest until after maturity, typically no earlier than age 20.

Second, and this is the thing least understood: bonds most often manifest when mature partners first encounter one another. BUT not always, especially with people who knew each other prior to maturity.

There’s a lot of theories, most popular that the bond manifests when both partners are ready to be bonded, or in other words, have grown into the version of themselves truly suited to their partner. But no one really knows. It’s not an exact science.

And plenty of scientific research has indeed been done on soul bonding. There’s a department of the national health organization dedicated to it, legal provisions made for bonded partners, including work and school accommodations for those in the settling period.

(Settling can typically be physically measured through hormones via bloodwork.)

There are societal benefits to bonded relationships after all. Bonded partners tend to be more stable members of society, the possibility of your bonded being anyone promotes empathy, outreach, and social safety nets being extended more broadly, and on the local scale, many studies have shown that bonded partners have a stabilizing, sometimes even calming effect on their immediate social groups and environments.

And of course, there’s plenty of media romanticism of bonded relationships. It’s the biggest subgenre of romance books and films, but is often prevalent in all other genres, especially popular in law enforcement/war story/etc stories.

Now for the actual story:

Tommy visits Queen Consolidated one day to try and woo the board into partnering with one of his charities. He leaves uncertain if they will take it as an opportunity for redemptive PR or treat associating with a man named Merlyn like bathing in radioactive waste. On his way out through the lobby, he literally runs into a cute blonde he wouldn’t have really glanced at twice.

And nothing will ever be the same.

The bonding is instant, electric, and undeniable. However, it is also... unwelcome.

Neither of them is remotely happy that it happens.

Tommy is in love with Laurel and has been talking himself into making a real move. This is the worst timing. And bonding or not, the idea of letting someone get close to him like that is terrifying. He has been abandoned and betrayed and discarded his whole life. In his mind, not even a bonding can make someone want to keep him around in any capacity.

And if they do, he would think it was only because they “had to” because that bond. That’s not how bonding works, but it’s a popular and persistent misconception.

And new bonds can put serious strain on preexisting relationships. When opposite sex, attraction-compatible partners are bonded, the general public has a hard time believing it’s not sexual and/or romantic, and even still insecurity and jealousy from nonbonded romantic partners can complicate matters.

So Tommy is exasperated and suspicious and unhappy.

Felicity is no happier, however.

New bondings require mandatory paid leave from work during the settling period and Felicity has been trying to make advancement finally happen in her career at QC. And bonding leave has historically had a more negative effect on women’s career trajectory than men’s.

It’s still our world, unfortunately.

It’s no different than women starting families.

Beyond even just the career implications, however, Felicity has never wanted to be bonded. Not in any way she’d admit to anyways.

Her parents were bond partners. And still her father walked away from them when she was six.

Her mother, when she is drunk and feeling reflective, will admit they were never meant to be romantic partners. He was her best friend. They rarely slept with each other after settling, but it wasn’t never. The pregnancy wasn’t planned. Donna was delighted. Her husband had never wanted children.

And while he loved Felicity, he never really took to fatherhood. The strain broke down their relationship. And even bonded, when you stop communicating, and circumstances are adverse to both partners’ needs being met, and you stop working on your relationship... no relationship is perfect or safe forever from hurt. Not even a soul bonded one.

(Because in my concept, being soulmates isn’t a magical fix for everything. It’s too much an easy button sometimes. I find that dissatisfying.)

Now, what happened between Felicity’s parents isn’t impossible. It’s even understandable, if tragic nonetheless. And her father still made cruel choices in abandoning them and never returning.

But Felicity was six and it hurt her deeply while her ideas of the world were still forming. She decided as she grew up that bonding was bullshit and looking to be bonded so you could feel safe or be happy was asking to get your heart broken, a fairy tale you would be stupid to trust.

So now here she is, bonded to someone whose last name is almost synonymous with domestic terrorism, who doesn’t want to be bonded either, and is in love with someone else. And right when she’s trying to take control of her career, too. Add to that how impossible it will be to maintain her happily anonymous life when bonded to one of Starling’s most infamous sons and none of this looks like a good time.

But you can’t take back a bonding. You can’t undo or break it. Some people are made to have a home in your heart, and the best you could do is evict them and board it up. Still leaves a chamber empty. You can live with it, but you’ll always feel it. And the settling is unavoidable. Even if you choose to never see each other again after, you have to get through settling first.

(You cannot, by the way, be bonded to someone who would truly abuse you. If they would rape or willingly harm you, they’d never be the person so suited to you that you were bound.)

Like there are ways to get through settling on the bare minimum. If both partners are not interested in fostering their connection to its full potential, they can do the least possible to get through settling with minimal discomfort, then simply choose to drift apart and not keep up with each other or stay in contact. (Even then, though, you’re still bonded. Sometimes you’ll just Know something is happening. You’ll feel the urge to reach out, to look in on their life. Hearing about them will always make you pensive for a while. But it’s up to you what to do about any of that.)

Felicity got this far forcefully assuming she’d never be bonded with anyone. Insisting to herself and anyone who asked that she actively didn’t want to be. Tommy had always thought if he bonded with anyone it’d be Oliver. And when that didn’t happen at 20, and things fell out as they did, he assumed... well. He was too broken. Too fundamentally unlovable. Too tainted by the loneliness of his childhood and the selfish monstrosity of his father. His parents weren’t bonded. They chose each other completely on their own, was how his mother put it. He used to think that was even more romantic. As he got older he talked himself into believing it was because of how terrible and cold a person Malcolm was, incapable of bonding equally to anyone at all. Talked himself into believing he must be enough like his father to be similarly incapable of bonding.

(And you know, in every soulmate au I’ve ever toyed with that’s held true. Tommy has always assumed it would be Oliver.)

So when the bond happens to Tommy and Felicity completely out of the blue, two perfect strangers, oh they are pissed. And resistant. They assume they will get through settling and never bother one another ever again if they can manage it.

They want very much to keep it quiet.

That lasts less than a day.

After all, it happened in public. Bondings aren’t entirely commonplace but they’re not rare. If you’ve ever witnessed one, you knew it. That sense of electric connection isn’t imaginary, and at point of contact, can be felt like a ripple by those around the connection. Like holding your hand up to an old tv boxset screen just after turning it off.

All it takes is for someone to follow the feeling back and realize they recognize one of the people now staring at each other with their hands on their chests.

A call to a newspaper or tabloid. “Tommy Merlyn just got soul bonded in the lobby of Queen Consolidated!”

The news is spreading before Tommy and Felicity are even properly grappling with it. By the time they’ve had their first conversation and already decided they want to settle quietly and go their separate ways, it’s already a Twitter rumor and the trashiest tabloid in town is putting out speculation about the mystery bond partner of the infamous Merlyn son.

So. Tommy and Felicity don’t get to settle quietly. The first dent in Felicity’s knee jerk hostility towards Tommy is when he immediately works to do what he can to keep her identity concealed once it’s out there that she exists, just not who she is.

Things get complicated fast too. They can’t keep her identity hidden for long at all, though it matters that Tommy tries, and when higher ups at QC find out that the new bond partner of Tommy Merlyn is an employee of theirs (and a bonafide trending topic), it shifts their standing on his proposal for partnership.

He was right that they were leaning towards not partnering with his charity out of a conservative desire to keep the Merlyn and Queen names still separate. It’s only been five years after all. But as interest in Felicity grows it will be impossible to avoid connection since she works there, and if they fired her to try and cover their asses they’d open themselves up to a lawsuit and public backlash. It’s bad optics to make employment decisions based on a person’s bond partner(s), and if provable is illegal in certain circumstances. It’s also wildly unpopular with the public.

So they pivot to cozying up and trying to maximize on it. They’ll do the partnership and even go over the requested funding, but only if Felicity agrees to participate in the PR push. They intend to go with the partnership/redemption/community healing spin.

And won’t it look pretty to partner with a Merlyn charity for lower income health care initiatives with Tommy Merlyn showing up with their employee, much closer to that class than his own, on his arm.

All of this is complicated by the initiative rolling out the pr push during their settling period, a time most new partners choose to stay out of public by and large.

It can be pushed back slightly, but not enough.

So that will be Felicity’s first public appearance as bond partner to Tommy Merlyn, at a donor gala soliciting funding for free clinics and other low income healthcare initiatives.

In the meantime, they have to actually deal with their settling period, and hope they can be balanced enough at the time of the gala not to be petting each other in front of the press corps.

After all, what happens when you have two deeply lonely and desperately touch starved people bonded at the soul level?

Intense need and desire for physical contact.

Most new partners actually move in together during their settling period because need for prolonged physical contact between bond partners is extremely common.

Think Tommy running his hand up and down Felicity’s arm. Felicity absently playing with his hair when they’re alone. And Felicity’s gala dress will have a plunging neckline (showcasing the mark) and an even more plunging back. Tommy will not be able to stop running his hand down her spine. He isn’t even conscious of it most of the time. She hardly is either, just unconsciously leaning into the instinctive comfort of it. But there will be plenty written about it before press time the next day.

The touching starts soon in the settling process. Before they realize it tbh. They’re angrily telling each other they don’t want this and yet they keep touching each other. Hand on her arm to pull her out of the lobby to talk privately. Pushing at his chest to underscore her point. Etc.

He probably guides her to an unused conference room or whatever and she probably immediately ignores him to start unbuttoning her shirt in a panic, looking for her mark, brand new and right smack in the middle between her breasts. Tommy wigs out at that and they’re on the wrong foot from the jump.

(Tommy’s is upper left pectoral. Literally right above his heart)

“Whoa! Whoa whoa whoa, I did not drag you in here for sex, stop undressing!”

“Shut up! I need to see it. Don’t you need to see it? I can feel it. Oh my god. Oh my god, this can’t be happening to me. Do you see it? Tell me this isn’t real.”

They probably argue until the frustrated tears in her eyes lead him to suddenly unbutton his own shirt and prove to them both the marks are real.

But every second since the bonding that electric hum ratchets up til it’s an impossible to ignore itch. They part ways at some point, within hours after, but it’s hardly dark out before Felicity is getting in her car. She tells herself she’s just too damn ansty to be still and needs to go driving. She winds up outside his apartment building without even knowing that’s where she is. He thinks he’s gone downstairs to take a walk and sees her instead.

So Felicity goes up to Tommy’s place once they realize they were literally being drawn to each other. She spends the night there. They talk long into the night, admittedly a lot of it arguing and snarking, but once they’re sitting on the couch with no space between them he starts playing with her fingers without even realizing it. Once they do, they both just watch his fingers toying with hers in loaded silence until she abruptly bursts into tears.

He’s startled, panicking and trying awkwardly to comfort her and please tell him if he did something wrong. But she’s so frustrated with her tears and it’s making her cry harder. She only barely, figuring it out out loud, manages to articulate that she can’t remember the last time someone just touched her like this, and it’s killing her, and she doesn’t want him to stop and that scares her.

And he terrifies himself by nearly crying too because fuck he gets that. He wants so badly for her to just please let him keep touching her like this, because it hurts how much his skin aches to touch another person so simply, just simple human contact, and he’s not sure that’s okay and why would she want to let him touch her, and how do you even ask for things like that without sounding like a creep?

And she doesn’t look at him like he’s evil incarnate, or the son of it. It helps that she moved to Starling after it all happened. She heard about it, but in the abstract way you hear about local taxes going up, or how everyone hates that one sports team.

He was an abstract concept. She didn’t research him or read the articles or follow his big moves into charity work.

He’s just a person to her.

He’s just himself.

Everyone has baggage.

His is just larger scale as far as she’s concerned.

Not that they get into that right away. That first night is still kinda awkward. The getting to know you small talk mixed with late night slumber party deepness interspersed with bouts of silence and a whole lot of cautious casual touching.

But it does make them realize that they’re going to have to deal seriously with being bonded and especially settling.

Whiiiich necessitates certain moves.

First, Felicity has to deal with work. Before the board has moved on their big idea, she puts in her notice of bonding, starting the paperwork to initiate her government mandated settling leave.

The process is completed by a doctor's note stating that bloodwork shows she is indeed in the settling phase of bonding.

Which precipitates their next stop.

Most hospitals and clinics have specialists for this sort of thing. Not just for bloodwork but for sort of... entrance counseling. They talk to the partners separately, confirm bloodwork, provided documentation legally recognizing the bond, and if the partners choose, they can then also be counseled together. It’s the point at which most people get their questions answered about both being bonded and the settling process.

In his individual session, Tommy is probably asking questions about the practicalities of settling, and how to maintain relationships outside a settling bond, and what to do about being in love with someone else while the bond is making you focus on a different person entirely.

(His doctor, a handsome black man in his later thirties, smiles in amusement at that and reminds him not all bonds are romantic and they are certainly not automatically exclusive of other relationship possibilities.)

But Felicity.

Felicity is after the numbers and statistics. How many bondings go badly, what’s the average length of a settling period, what percentage are platonic vs romantic, and do bond partners who are attraction-compatible always end up romantically or sexually involved or can they remain platonic from the start?

So many questions. Her doctor is a youngish Latina woman, close to 30, maybe a little past, and she takes Felicity’s frenzied questions in stride, patient and reassuring but not condescending. When Felicity asks that last question the conversation veers a bit.

“Do you want the speech I’ve already given you about your continued autonomous freedom to choose and control over your actions? Or do you want more numbers and statistics?”

“Numbers, please. Unknowns bother me. Not like scare me, but they bother me, I just need to know, I need cold, hard numbers. Numbers are trustworthy, numbers are reliable.”

He doctor gives her a tolerantly skeptical look. “The cold, hard numbers it is then. In most studies and surveys, the numbers have been pretty consistent. This doesn’t change anything I said about choice or your control over your decisions, but statistics wise? Typically, for attraction-compatible partners, in all honesty, it’s above 80% odds that the partners at some point become romantically or sexually involved. It doesn’t always remain that way, but that’s the odds of involvement at some point over the lifetime of the bond.”

Felicity gapes. “Eight... eighty percent? More than eighty percent?”

Doc nods. “More than 80%. Of course, that does include brief flings and even oneoff intimate encounters. Are you ready for more numbers?” Felicity gulps and nods. “About 93% of those partners get romantically or sexually involved during the settling period. Even if it never happens again, if it’s going to, the odds are overwhelmingly in favor of it being during the most intense period of the bond, while it’s still new and the partners haven’t found their balance quite yet. After all, it’s a very absorbing, intensely emotional period.”

Felicity sits there looking poleaxed. The doc looks at her a little pityingly. “Still prefer those numbers?”

Felicity groans and falls backward on the examination table. “So I’m definitely going to sleep with him? Or, ugh, fall in love with him?”

The doc shakes her head, rolling her eyes heavenward while Felicity isn’t looking. “Not definitely. But it’s a strong possibility.” Felicity muffles a low scream in her forearms. The doc snorts and, when Felicity sits back up, smiles brightly. “But hey, even if it does happen you don’t have to worry about getting pregnant. Protection is still best in all cases, but an aspect of the hormone cocktail that indicates the settling period does preclude the possibility of successful conception.”

Felicity is not really reassured by this.

So Tommy asks the existential questions at the clinic and Felicity asks how screwed (ha) they are by statistics. Neither is feeling particularly awesome about things after their individual counseling sessions but because they are stupid they opt not to also be counseled as a pair.

They’re morons who are resisting the trust and communication aspect of being bonded.

Idk if I’d end up splashing plot around on this thing or just focus solely on the relationship aspect.

Regardless, even if plot, large focus would be on these two getting to know each other during settling and slowly realizing that the bond—and each other—might be exactly what they needed in their lives. It would be hellaaaaa slow burn.

And then there’s the option to expand.

Tommy and Felicity settle before I’d let Oliver butt in, that’s certain. Adding him to the mix too early would be a disaster.

So big focus on Tommy/Felicity relationship development. Lots of talking and cuddling and minor metaphysics. Eventual shift towards the romantic, and its undoubted accompanying angst.

But also possibly some at least minor plot developments in regards to Felicity pushing to further her career, and plenty of entanglement with Tommy’s reputation and unearned notoriety as well as his efforts to make up for his father’s sins by furthering the legacy of his mother’s life’s work.

I’m thinking there miiiight be an incident of some sort at the charity gala.

Not sure if like... an actual attack aimed at Tommy or like disgruntled people going too far.

And I have this line in my head of them like hiding out in a dark spot somewhere and Tommy miserably apologizing for dragging her into his family bullshit. “You were living a normal, safe life until I happened to you. I’m so sorry.”

And Felicity is half ignoring him as she tries to figure out how to help the situation, and just smirks at him wryly. “Please don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re the most interesting thing to ever happen to me.”

And of course at some point in the chaos they’ll get separated and it will drive them crazy, frantically searching through the crowd until they find each other. The photo of them clinging desperately to each other once reunited probably makes a few front pages.

Laurel may or may not be there, and Tommy will no doubt end up deeply conflicted about that.

Felicity at some point follows him around on the job with his various charities and nonprofits he’s either started or is deeply involved in and she develops a troubling passion for the work he does. Troubling because she initially wonders if it’s her own passion or something she’s picking up from him.

She starts making mental notes of things that could be improved.

Not on purpose. But when she notices things that could help she can’t just not tell him of course.

And that’s it that’s the meta thus far.

@abuiltinremedy @sweetme86 @illgiveyouallofme @arrowsgirlfriday @folly1977 @memcjo @it-was-a-red-heeler @karolstrange @hungrytiger11 @adeusminhacolombina @lfcoffee @trinket-the-bear @tosailuponthesea @julandran @fiore-della-valle @deathandindignitybedamned @obscure-sentimentalist @dullbittylife @posterchildforinsanity @msbeccieboo @mell-bell @thebravething @lemmyeatspeaches @soaringcities @inevermindyou @sickandtwisteddoc @acheaptrickandacheesyoneline

#arrow #arrow meta #flommy #felicity smoak #tommy merlyn #oliver queen #arrow au #arrow fic #arrow fanfiction #flommy soulmate au #cover photo from unsplash

113 notes · View notes

thesffcorner · 5 years

Text

Pokemon: Detective Pikachu

Pokemon: Detective Pikachu is a live-action/CG animated film, set in the universe of the Nintendo Pokemon games. It follows Tim (Justice Smith) who goes to Rhyme City, a metropolis where Pokemon and humans live side by side, to find out what happened to his father, detective Harry Goodman, after disappearing along with his Pokemon partner.

At Harry’s apartment, Tim runs into a Pikachu, except this Pikachu can talk, and Tim seems to be the only one who can understand him. The two set off on their own investigation to figure out what happened to Harry.

I really dislike when people justify the quality of a movie by saying “well it’s a kid’s movie”. That’s no excuse; Zootopia, the film Detective Pikachu is desperately trying to be, is also a kid’s movie, and that film deals with racism, discrimination, prejudice and even drug abuse, while still being incredibly entertaining and funny. Even the OG animated Pokemon films had more bite than this wreck; at least the first Pokemon film was about animal abuse, and the limits of power. This, is a toothless film that does nothing new, and has no story; it only exists to sell merchandise.

Let’s start with the positives, because there really is only one; the animation.

It’s clear that the budget for this film went all into the Pokemon designs and animation. All the Pokemon are beautiful; they are lovingly rendered and animated, and their designs manage to walk the really thin line between being adorable, and photo-realistic. They are still Pokemon, brightly colored and out there, but they look perfectly at home in the noir setting that is Rhyme city, and for the most part make perfect sense in this context.

Unfortunately, the film doesn’t know what to do with the. There are very few scenes that are inspired, and actually use the Pokemon in anything fun or creative. There is a scene with some giant Torteras that was pretty fun, and later on a scene with a flock of Bulbasaurs that was beautiful, but it also reminded me a lot of Avatar. However, most of the film doesn’t have the Pokemon do anything; they hang out in the background of shots, they look cute or adorably gross, and sometimes they are part of a small gag, like the Kubone at the start. The most fun I had in the film was just pointing at the different Pokemon, and calling out their names, like a 5 year old child (which I imagine is exactly what Nintendo wants me to do in this film).

Because Rhyme City doesn’t allow Pokemon being caught in Pokeballs, training, or Pokebattles, we only get a single illegal battle that’s hamstrung by the fact that Pikachu doesn’t remember how to use his powers. Most of the appeal of Pokemon as a franchise is the collection and battle of the various Pokemon, and that element is almost entirely absent here.

This film’s other big selling point is Ryan Reynolds as Pikachu. Once you get over the initial shock of hearing his very recognizable voice coming out from the mouth of a yellow, electric rat, the appeal diminishes pretty quickly. Reynolds just isn’t funny in this film; he talks a lot, but makes very few jokes, and the ones that do land are far too few. Additionally, there is a pure dirth of visual gags; having your lead character be the only one who can hear his Pokepartner and understand him in a world where no one else can is a goldmine for comedy, but there was really only one gag that landed for me, and no it wasn’t the one where Tim loses his pants.

Moreover, I feel it’s maybe gauche to complain that Pikachu’s characterization was inconsistent in this film, but it really was. Even without the twist, when Reynolds is voicing Pikachu, he flip flops wildly between comedy, and serious drama, and a lot of the more dramatic elements aren’t justified in the film. He has a very strange mental breakdown at the end of act two, where he claims he hurts the ones who are close to him, and he’s dangerous and it’s like… where on Earth is this coming from? He’s been nothing but incompetent for 70 mins of this film, where was this characterization before?

This wouldn’t be so bad, if the film didn’t insist on telling both an engaging, noir detective story, and hard hitting emotional drama between a father and a son. But that’s the hill they are willing to die on, and it’s at the expense of all the stuff that makes Pokemon fun.

Let’s talk about the ‘mystery’ first. It’s just a rehash of the first Pokemon film; there is a billionaire benefactor obsessed with Pokemon, a corporation wanting to control them and manipulate evolution, Mewtwo is here. How Harry ties into all this could have been interesting if the film had a consistent through line and allowed Pikachu and Tim to actually be detectives and retrace Harry’s footsteps, rather than constantly having various other random characters drop in and tell them what happened.

Even ignoring that, it’s still unavoidable that this plot is a poor and obvious rip-off of Zootopia: we have the unlikely pair of detectives, a convoluted mystery that links to the government, a creepy abandoned experimenting facility, a drug that makes the Pokemon/animals go feral, and EVEN a missing person’s case no one wants to touch or investigate.

The difference is, Zootopia committed to the story and tropes it was using; the relationship between Judy and Nick was a mirror into the larger conflict between predators and prey in the city. They kind of try to do a similar thing here, where Bill Nighy’s character has a strained relationship with his own son (Chris Geere), but it’s a poor, muddled attempt. We don’t care about either of these people, and the revelation that Harry knew Nighy’s character comes too late in the film to change that. The film is too inconsistent and lazy to make any real points about why experimenting on Pokemon is bad, other than in the most simplistic animals shouldn’t suffer message.

The absolute worst part was definitely the relationship between Tim and his dad; mild SPOILERS for this part.

When Tim was 11, he was about to enter his most important Poketurnament, but he missed it, because his father had to take his mother to the hospital due to some kind of accident. Tim was mad at both of them, but then his mother died on that day. Unable to cope, his father moved to Rhyme city, and then invited Tim to live with him, but Tim refused, because he was 11, and depressed, and his father had LEFT him and SENT HIM A TRAIN TICKET, instead of picking him up like a normal adult would.

The whole film, we spend watching Tim, who is lonely, awkward and doesn’t have a Pokepartner, or like Pokemon bond and grow to care for Pikachu, only for then to have his father come back, and he ends up without a Pokepartner again. So why were we building up this Pokemon-master relationship the whole film?

Everything to do with Tim’s mom and his dream to be a Poketrainer was done really poorly. Until my friend pointed it out, I didn’t even realize Tim had stopped training Pokemon because he missed the tournament the day his mother died. There could have been some real drama there, about a child being angry at his parents for not taking him to his then most important event in his life, only for him to then lose one of those parents and have to live with the guilt of being angry at his mom the day she died. But we get nothing like that in the film; Tim is just angry at his dad, with good reason, I might add.

His dad was a shitty parent; he left Tim alone after losing his mother, and he couldn’t even bother to come pick him up and take him to the city, sending him a ticket instead. He then never contacted Tim for the next 9 YEARS. I can’t blame Tim for thinking his father didn’t care; I’m more shocked he so quickly decided he did care because he saw the picture of Tim’s mother in his dad’s house. And then his dad thought it would be a wise idea to send him another train ticket for his 21st birthday? I feel like there are some steps he could’ve taken in between, like I dunno, maybe CALLING HIM.

There is also a twist in the film, that is so obvious and predictable, it’s insulting to call it that. Throughout the film, we never see Tim’s dad; he’s always in silhouette, or obscured or out of frame. The only other big name actor in this movie, outside of Bill Nighy is Ryan Reynolds; hmmm, who could Tim’s dad be.

Let’s ignore the fact that Smith and Reynolds look nothing alike, not to mention Reynolds doesn’t look a day above 30, so him having a 20 year old child is wild, we are supposed to find it heartwarming when Tim throws the stupid train ticket away and stays in Rhyme City. But Reynolds acts nothing like what he did when he was Pikachu, and we spent the whole movie watching Tim bond with Pikachu, not his dad. So for us, this is a complete stranger, who is even less funny than when he was playing a yellow rat, so how is this a win for anyone?

Overall, I only recommend this film if you really, desperately want to see CGI Pokemon, or you have young children who are into the games. I promise, you will have more fun just watching the first movie, or the show, or heck, just playing the games. It’s uninspired, it’s predictable, and it’s not really funny; watch anything else instead.

#detective pikachu #detective pikachu review #Film Review #pokemon #moni talks

4 notes · View notes