#I guess it makes sense that once they get scale armour it changes but i liked the minimal feel of the og clothes and how u could see every-

[dizzybevvie]

Hot take but I never adjusted to Hiccups colour pallet being changed to primarily red

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 3

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

The Regent’s forces were rivers of darker red, driving inroads into their lines, mingling their armies together, like a stream of blood hitting water, then diffusing.

He killed, and it was simply that men got out of his way, or were dead.

He had grown used to something that had been temporary, like the flash of exhilaration in a pair of blue eyes for a moment catching his own. All of that tangled together inside him, and tightened, through the killing, into a single hard knot.

something about the way this is written just hits me in the abandonment issues

‘If the Prince of Vere shows himself, I will kill him.’ Nikandros half spat the words.

nik private twitter venting moment #2

The ground was wet, his legs were mud-spattered above his knees—mud in dry summer, because the ground was blood.

i don’t know man i feel like after a point you have to just be like. hey. why are we doing this again? like yeah i get that fighting in a military force can be for A Cause but unless you’re directly involved in enacting ideological change, aren’t you basically just cannon fodder

On the far side of the field, he saw the flash of embroidered red. That is how Akielons win wars, isn’t it? Why fight the whole army, when you can just—

i’m guessing the part in italics in a previous laurent line, about damen killing auguste at marlas?

He used the little name that Damen had been called as a boy; the childhood name, reserved for intimates.

the fact that is was kastor specifically asking the veretians to call him that…

Damen realised that he was on his knees, his own chest heaving like the chest of his horse.

laurent’s horse will be glad to know that damen’s horse lived. because, as we all know, they’re in love

‘Over?’ The word grated out of him. All he could think was that if the Regent still lived, nothing was over.

it is interesting how, even when he thinks laurent screwed him over (see previous chapter), damen has this uncontrollable rage towards the regent rather than laurent. i think this has more to do with the regent killing his men and trying invade his country, though. and maybe just that it’s easier to hate him than laurent. “regent = bad” is something that’s easy for damen to comprehend right now, while laurent’s whole thing is a lot more confusing and intimate

And with returning awareness, he saw as if for the first time the bodies of the men that he had killed to get to the Regent’s decoy, and beyond that, the evidence of what he had done. The field was a rutted earthworks strewn with the dead. The ground was a churned mess of flesh, ineffective armour and riderless horses. Killing ceaselessly, for hours, he had not been aware of the scale of it, of what he had caused to happen here. He saw flashes behind his eyelids, faces of the men he’d killed. Those left standing were all Akielon; and they stared at Damen as at something impossible.

damen holy shit… i guess that’s one way to reclaim your authority. and he didn’t even mean it as a sign of intimidation, he just wanted to get to the “regent.” who by the way was just some random guy RIP

‘Find the highest-ranked Veretian still living and tell them they have leave to bury their dead,’ said Damen. There was a fallen Akielon banner on the ground beside him. ‘Charcy is claimed for Akielos.’ As he rose, Damen wrapped his hand around its wooden pole and planted it in the earth.

not sure if calling it an akielion victory despite the combined forces is just customary, or intentionally out of spite. i’m leaning on the former, since it’s damen and not laurent we're talking about

The herald came cantering across the devastated landscape on a white, glossy mare with a curved neck and a high, flying tail. Beautiful and untouched, he made a mockery of the sacrifice of the brave men on the field. His banner streamed out behind him, and its blazon was Laurent’s starburst, in blue and shining gold.

here is an excerpt from a post i made while reading king’s rising for the first time:

“damen when he realizes he’s not in a slow burn romance with problematic beginnings, but a complex psychological thriller in which the smartest fictional character i have ever personally encountered has decided to make his life a living hell and also they’re in love with each other but the psychological thriller stuff is way more important to his bitchy blonde nightmare malewife and he is SO down bad and just has to deal with laurent’s mean girls 4d chess petty nonsense bc it’s enrichment for him and damen will kill anyone who gets in laurent’s way and he can’t even pick up the very very VERY clear implications of laurent’s trauma that would probably allow them to reach some kind of vulnerability equilibrium in their relationship”

on a re-read, i think this is a great time to dig into that a little more ;)

SO what i love about so much of laurent’s choices in the next few chapters is the fact that much of what he says and does is entirely petty. like, yes there’s always strategy and trauma and depth as usual, but i think it’s not denying him depth to say that he is 20 years old, this is his first love in the midst of an extremely stressful and messy situation, and despite his own wishes he cannot prevent his emotions from affecting his actions. laurent has had control over so much of the situation with damen thus far, both with the power dynamics between them as master and “slave” and the fact that damen didn’t know that laurent knew who he was. but now laurent knows that damen knows, so all of his previous and future actions are going to be under damen’s scrutiny in that context. they’re equals now, and the secrets reinforcing laurent’s prior cognitive dissonance have dissolved. that leaves laurent vulnerable (especially after being tortured and genuinely letting damen down even if by accident) and emotional compromised (he has no choice but to see damen as damianos, and with that comes all of the auguste baggage and the fact that they’ve already fallen in love and had sex under different circumstances).

all that is to say, the next few chapters are laurent’s mean girls era. he is, again, still being smart and strategic (4d chess), and his feelings are valid and his trauma is real. however, he is also just being MEAN, for the same reasons classic high school movie mean girls tend to be: he feels insecure and vulnerable about his romantic attachment to damen, stressed out by the insane amount of power he definitely should not have, and self-righteous about all the ways the world has conspired against him. regina george might have been the villain of the movie, but she was the hero of her own story. janis and cady methodically dismantled her life as a popular, powerful, and confident person. that’s why she got revenge with the burn book instead of looking inward and acknowledging her own issues, of which there were many. she had a machiavellian view of life, in which mean people always won, and so being mean in retaliation was how she could protect herself from being a victim.

that is laurent’s perspective too, for a lot of this series. we don’t know anything about regina’s backstory, or heather chandler’s (another great example), but we do know exactly why laurent has the worldview he does. he used to be sweet and it made him a victim. so he is mean to protect himself, even if that robs him of his sweetness. damen’s integrity and honor have challenged laurent’s worldview, though, and that has been the source of a lot of laurent’s slow reconsideration. but now that laurent can’t just pretend that damen isn't damianos, now that he has to accept this situation in its full interpersonal and political messiness, he isn’t nearly as inspired. laurent assumes, now that laurent has gone “mask off,” that damen will realize that laurent doesn’t deserve the love he has shown him in the past. because laurent has been mean to damen, by lying about his awareness even at the times damen thought he was being earnest and sweet. that makes damen a victim and fool—two things laurent deeply fears being, and therefore assumes everyone else also fears in themselves. two things the regent had wanted laurent to consider himself, by placing damen in his life in the first place.

therefore, in his insecurity and vulnerability and anger, as a 20 year old just experiencing his first love, as someone with a lot of power and stress who cannot waste time or energy on genuinely confronting his own flaws in good faith, laurent is gearing up to be sososososo mean to damen specifically in the next few chapters. like comedically mean. aimlessly mean. pathetically mean. on purpose. ultimately, if he must be alone (which he obviously must, says laurent's brain), laurent would rather be the villain of someone else’s story than a victim in his own. that, at least, is similar to book 1 laurent—but while he was a cat playing with a mouse in book 1, in a position to do serious damage to his opponent, now he’s more like…. a cat, slapping another cat. evenly matched, but still throwing hands. transparently insecure and pathetic, only effective in doing emotional damage in ways he doesn’t intend. damen isn’t hurt by the petty things laurent says and does, because he sees through them for what they are. he’s hurt because laurent sees them as necessary to protect himself and keep his distance, when all damen wants is to make things okay between them. which laurent would never expect, because he assumes that damen wants nothing to do with him, and would be happier and better off if they stayed apart.

basically: unstoppable force (damen's persistent caring) meets unmovable object (laurent's refusal to be genuinely cared for). the only way for this cycle to end is for damen to choose to stop, or for laurent to choose to yield. laurent will eventually make that choice, but he still has to be a huge bitch about it first. he's going to lash out at damen and challenge him to stop caring, but ultimately fail—both because damen is just built different, and because he's lowkey written as a fantasy partner for emotionally volatile people with attachment and abandonment issues.

rest assured, laurent’s genre is still psychological thriller, but it’s also now a high school drama movie. and damen is about to get a bitter taste of that, with pretty much no choice in the matter. this poor man will have to deal with laurent’s bitchy theatrics as they try to co-parent an army, and he’s already too emotionally invested and aware of laurent’s habit of lashing out when he’s in pain to genuinely fight back.

this could also be called laurent’s s1 catra era, but i’m not sure what the venn diagram of capri and she ra enjoyers looks like. to those who get it—laurent is doing what catra did at princess prom for the next several chapters, down to the “hey adora” = “hello lover.” this dynamic is very fun to read because it doesn’t overstay its welcome. it’s different from laurent in book 1, or catra in general, because it’s so clearly pathetic, damen and laurent are on the same side of the war, and damen could technically make it stop at any point. so i think it’s very very fun, while it lasts >:)

The herald reined in in front of him. Damen looked at the mare’s shiny coat, not dirt-covered, not heaving or darkened with sweat, and then at the herald’s livery, in immaculate condition, unflecked by the dust of the road. He felt it rising at the back of his throat. ‘Where is he?’

damen showed up to the prom laurent planned with him to unite their rival high schools, only to find himself dateless and laurent’s promised fancy party decorations missing. this is the moment where damen checks snapchat (i was in high school from 2013-2017) and sees everyone from vere high at their own immaculately-decorated prom, where laurent is being crowned king. little does damen know, laurent was blindsided by the vere-only prom and forced via social pressure to be there since everyone elected him prom king. they’re mad at each other for a high school drama pacing-typical period of time, and then make up when they realize the misunderstanding and reassert their dedication to each other.

laurent did still murder someone with a chair, though. but like a metal folding chair from the band room

The herald’s back hit the ground. Damen had dragged him bodily from his horse into the dirt, where he lay dazed and winded, with Damen’s knee in his stomach. Damen’s hand was around his neck.

His grip tightened before it opened enough to allow the herald to speak. The herald rolled onto his side and coughed as Damen released him. He pulled something from inside his jacket. Parchment, with two lines on it. You have Charcy. I have Fortaine. He stared at the words, written in familiar, unmistakable handwriting. I’ll receive you at my fort.

lamen hr complaint #5 (unnamed herald): ragdolling this guy over what should be impersonal, professional correspondence

also, because i can't help myself:

Fortaine eclipsed even Ravenel, powerful and beautiful, its towers high-flung, its jutting crenelles biting the sky. It rose to a sheer, impossible height and, from every vantage, it was flying Laurent’s banners. The pennants seemed to float on the air effortlessly, patterned silk in blue and gold.

WELCOME HOME, BROTHER KILLER

Rows upon rows of peaked, coloured tents were pitched on the field outside Fortaine’s walls, the sun lighting the pavilions, the banners, and the silks of a graceful encampment. It was a city of tents, and it camped a fresh, intact force of Laurent’s men, who had not fought and died through the morning. The constructed arrogance of the display was intentional. It said, exquisitely: Did you exert yourself at Charcy? I have been here examining my nails.

this is funny and i wouldn’t put it past laurent, but also i’m not sure if he like. really meant this part of it specifically to piss damen off. he was just tortured idk he probably just wanted things nice. a good part of the fun of lamen divorce era is remembering that damen’s interpretation of events isn’t necessarily accurate, and that it’s hilarious how he interprets things as petty personal slights even when they might not be. they’re both so obsessed with each other and it’s great

Nikandros reined in alongside him. ‘Uncle and nephew are alike. They send other men to do their fighting for them.’

nik tweets this verbatim on priv (#3)

Damen was silent. What he felt in his chest was a hardness like anger. He looked at the elegant silken city and thought about men dying on the field at Charcy.

but not exactly anger—betrayal? heartache? self-consciousness?

Some kind of herald’s greeting party was riding towards them. He gripped the Regent’s bloody, torn banner in his hand.

the phrase “greeting party” just made me imagine them rolling up with like confetti and a speaker blasting the celebration song. while damen holds the bloody torn banner

‘Just me,’ said Damen, and put his heels into his horse. About halfway across the field, he was met by the herald, who arrived with an anxious party of four attendants saying something urgent about protocol. Damen listened to four words of it. ‘Don’t worry,’ said Damen. ‘He’s expecting me.’

lamen hr complaint #6 (more unnamed heralds): disregarding protocol

(also “he’s expecting me” girlllll)

Without even pulling off his gauntlets, he strode to the tent. He knew its high scalloped folds; he knew the starburst pennant. No one stopped him. Not even when he reached the tent and dismissed the soldier at the entrance with a single order: ‘Go.’ He didn’t bother to see if his order was obeyed. The soldier let him through: of course he did; this had all been planned. Laurent was ready for him whether he came docilely behind the herald or, as he did now, the dirt and the sweat of the battle still on him, blood dried in the places where a cursory swipe with a cloth had not reached it. He swept the tent flap back with an arm, and stepped inside.

again i do have to question, beyond the drama, how much of this is as intentional and petty as damen thinks it is. like, the heralds literally cite protocol, damen knows this is the correct way for a camp to be run. i think he is assuming a lot here, although it’s reasonable to do so. we have seen in the past that damen assumes things of laurent that laurent is just like, “uh. not everything i do is on purpose” about, or damen is just WRONG about. i just wonder if damen’s approach here confirms things laurent was worried about (damen thinking poorly of him now that they’re on even ground), further fueling the fire of his rejection-sensitive bitchiness. not that it’s an excuse, or even undeserved, but it’s good to remember that there are two sides to the story.

like to damen, this is an angry post-battle rush of a moment to confront laurent and speak his truth (he doesn’t know laurent knows who he is), but to laurent this is like. post-torture and escape, and basically being thrown into the deep end of vulnerability with damianos and what this all implies to auguste’s memory. we’re not getting the best or most rational version of either of them right now, which is great for the drama but also makes the narration less reliable

This was the place Laurent had chosen.

right. damen thinks laurent chose this place to hear the truth about him, because the “you have charcy” note implies that at some point laurent probably figured out that damen is damianos. therefore laurent chose this occasion for them to meet each other, as they truly are by birth, for the first time. damen just doesn’t know the twist that laurent has always known who he’s been, and has chosen everything else before now with that knowledge too

There were a few furnishings, low seats, cushions, and in the background a trestle table hung with its own coverings, and set with shallow bowls of sugared pears and oranges. As though they were going to nibble at sweetmeats.

the same guy who ordered the “sorry you were given a severed head and discovered a suicide” fruit basket in prince’s gambit had to order a “sorry i gaslighted you for 2 books but not really because you also technically gaslighted me” fruit basket in kings rising

He lifted his gaze from the table to the exquisitely attired figure leaned with a single shoulder against the tent pole, watching him.

lucky number laurent lean #13!

Laurent said, ‘Hello, lover.’

It was not going to be simple.

this being the follow-up line to “hello lover” is such a good combination of funny and tension-building. like laurent’s cunty tableau immediately put out damen’s fiery righteous indignation and now he’s just like “oh this is going to suck.”

He made himself breathe through that. ‘Your men think you’re a coward. Nikandros thinks that you deceived us. That you sent us to Charcy, and left us there to die by your uncle’s sword.’ ‘And is that what you think?’ said Laurent. ‘No.’ Damen said, ‘Nikandros doesn’t know you.’

this is really a testament to pacat’s cleverness, how in chapter 1 there are a lot of moments where it’s almost like damen is directly saying he thinks laurent screwed him over—nikandros and the herald saying it and him not disagreeing, him accepting the reality that laurent is not going to show up—but he never does truly say that he thinks the abandonment was on purpose. because he didn’t, and he doesn’t, which makes sense. but he’s still angry and confused and also just concerned about how laurent is taking the “news” that he’s damianos. how much of damen’s anger about laurent’s composed appearance is projection of his anxiety about laurent seeing him as he truly is, a powerful authority figure in his own right who just won a battle against insane odds?

it’s so ambiguously written that it’s almost like pacat WANTS us to spiral. which i did, and will probably continue to do, so well-played. these books are like evil catnip to anxious overthinking theater people with attachment issues and an interest in understanding complex fictional situations to cope with the fact that real life never makes enough sense. also kinky gays but let's be real that's just a trojan horse for the other stuff

‘And you do.’ Damen looked at the arrangement of Laurent’s weight, the careful way he was holding his body. Laurent’s left hand was still casually resting against the tent pole. Deliberately, he stepped forward, and clasped Laurent’s right shoulder. Nothing, for a moment. Damen tightened his grip, and ground in with his thumb. Harder. He watched Laurent turn ashen. Finally, Laurent said, ‘Stop.’

proving that he knows laurent well enough to pick up from his posture alone exactly where he’s been injured. also they’re both so messy, like let’s put pressure on each other’s literal and figurative wounds instead of just talking about our misconceptions and feelings, awesome

He let go. Laurent had wrenched back and was clutching his shoulder, where the blue of his doublet had darkened. Blood, welling up from some newly bandaged, subterranean place, and Laurent was staring at him, his eyes oddly wide. ‘You wouldn’t break an oath,’ said Damen, past the feeling in his chest. ‘Even to me.’

damen proving to himself, and proving to laurent, that he knows that laurent didn’t screw him over, and instead was injured and failed to show up. laurent is shocked by how quickly damen picked up on this. also ow

He had to force himself back.

he doesn’t want to see laurent in pain, or know that he’s causing it :( which is especially unfortunate given the conversation they’re about to have about damen murdering laurent’s brother

Laurent didn’t answer. He still had a hand clutched to his shoulder, his fingers sticky with blood. Laurent said, ‘Even to you?’

“you wouldn’t break an oath, even to me” (“even to me” being a sort of freudian slip, meaning “i killed your brother, and i’ve known that this whole time and i haven’t told you, and you have a good reason to hate me for that”) “even to you?” (to damen’s incomplete understanding: “well i know who you are now, and if i’d known before i would have broken every oath to you i’ve ever made”)

He made himself look at Laurent. The truth was an awful presence in his chest.

babygirl it’s about to get so much awfuller

He thought of the single night they had spent together. He thought of Laurent, giving himself, dark-eyed and vulnerable, and of the Regent, who knew how to break a man.

damen totally sees laurent as his “victim” right now, set up well by him re-opening laurent’s physical wound. damen fucked this man while knowing that he (damen) killed his (laurent’s) brother, and put trust in him. if they were normal, or this was a normal story, that’s where the confrontation would end. it would be that simple—damen didn’t mean to hurt laurent but still did, and laurent has to forgive him for that, and forgive himself for being fooled—and then it would get tearfully resolved because they love each other so much that it doesn't matter. but they are not normal, and this is not a normal story, so…

Outside, two armies were poised to fight. The moment was here, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He remembered the Regent’s constant suggestion: Bed my nephew. He had done that, wooed him, won him. Charcy, he saw, hadn’t mattered to the Regent. It hadn’t meant anything. The Regent’s real weapon against Laurent had always been Damen himself.

damen thinks the regent’s plan had been to weaken laurent by putting him in circumstances where he’d unknowingly make himself vulnerable with his brother’s killer, triggering him emotionally and destroying his judgment. i'm pretty sure that this was basically his intention, but had also made sure that it would also torture laurent even if he did recognize damen on the spot.

personally i think the regent knew that laurent knew in book 1 through observing his reaction, but had planned for both possibilities in advance. what he hadn't expected, though, was for laurent and damen to start genuinely working together instead of against each other. this happens early as the thing with patras, and really pops off during the botched assassination attempt.

charcy was meant to drive a wedge between them, to correct the regent's previous miscalculation. and given the inevitable truth damen must now reveal, there's nothing he can really do to stop laurent from being upset.

‘I’ve come to tell you who I am.’ Laurent was so keenly familiar, the shade of his hair, the strapped down clothing, the full lips that he held tense or cruelly repressed, the ruthless asceticism, the unbearable blue eyes. ‘I know who you are, Damianos,’ said Laurent. Damen heard it, as the interior of the tent seemed to change, so that all of the objects in it took on a different shape. ‘Did you think,’ said Laurent, ‘I wouldn’t recognise the man who killed my brother?’

the way i YELLED during my first read. i remember even like posting something before, like “oh my god damen just tell him put this poor man out of his misery,” and then after i got to this part i immediately went and deleted that post

Each word was an ice chip. Painful, sharp; a shard. Laurent’s voice was perfectly steady.

do you think he practiced this?

‘I knew in the palace, when they dragged you in front of me,’ said Laurent. The words continued, steady, relentless. ‘I knew in the baths when I ordered you flayed. I knew—’

he definitely practiced this

‘At Ravenel?’ said Damen.

“you knew when you kissed me and let me fuck you????”

‘If you knew,’ said Damen, ‘how could you—’ ‘Let you fuck me?’ His own chest hurt, so that he almost didn’t notice the signs of it in Laurent, the control, the face, pale at any time, now white.

he almost didn’t notice the signs, which means he still totally did. because even now, damen is attentive and caring towards laurent

‘I needed a victory at Charcy. You provided it. It was worth enduring,’ Laurent spoke the terrible, lucid words, ‘your fumbling attentions for that.’

LIARRRRRRR

It hurt so much it took the breath from his throat. ‘You’re lying.’ Damen’s heart was pounding. ‘You’re lying.’ The words were too loud. ‘You thought I was leaving. You practically threw me out.’ He said it, as the realisation blossomed inside him. ‘You knew who I was. You knew who I was the night we made love.’

tbh i think this kind of realization would make me have a panic attack on the spot. also do you think this is the kind of betrayal he’s been trying so hard to avoiding confronting, coming from kastor and jokaste? but here he has no choice to confront it, because laurent is forcing him to understand the depths of the deception. no avoiding it now

He thought of Laurent surrendering, not the first time, but the second, the slower, sweeter time, the tension in him, the way he had— ‘You weren’t making love to a slave, you were making love to me.’

very true, but laurent isn’t ready to deal with it. he can’t keep up the cognitive dissonance in the present, but that doesn’t mean he’s about to accept that it was real in the past. instead he’ll just lash out.

And he couldn’t think that through clearly but he could catch a glimmer of it, a glimmer of the edge of it. ‘I thought you wouldn’t, I thought you’d never—’

OF COURSE damen suspected, at some points, that laurent knew. but this tells us that he’d ultimately dismissed the notion because it would have been insane for laurent to kiss and fuck him, while knowing his real identity. “i thought you wouldn’t, i thought you’d never—“

this is similar to how i thought about it during my first read—i suspected for all of book 1, and some of book 2, but then figured that the story was taking a different direction because how the hell could the plot points of “laurent knows who damen is” and “laurent makes himself vulnerable to damen and does a romance/sex about it” possibly be compatible? laurent, a deeply traumatized and self-protective person, wouldn’t and would never. except i underestimated laurent’s capacity for self-delusion, and overestimated the amount of control he truly has over his emotions and impulses, beneath all the posturing. damen, here, is recognizing that he’s made similar miscalculations, and now he’s seeing laurent as he truly is. they’re both seeing each other, truly, for the first time.

‘Laurent, six years ago, when I fought Auguste, I—’ ‘Don’t you say his name.’ The words were forced out of Laurent. ‘Don’t you ever say his name, you killed my brother.’

i like the simplicity of this. just the plainness of “you killed my brother.” laurent’s language is so often clever and cagey and embellished, but that last sentiment is raw and informal, and what we the reader are probably screaming in our heads. because yeah, holy shit, damen killed laurent’s brother. it’s a pretty hard thing to argue against, or ignore. “you lied to me” “you killed my brother” “you flogged me” “you killed my brother” “you forgot to do the dishes” “you killed my brother”

Laurent was breathing shallowly, almost panting as he spoke, his hands rigid on the edge of the table behind him.

his practiced words are saying one thing, but his body is very obviously having a panic attack. this scene isn’t nearly as much of a laurent mean girl moment as it seemed during a rushed first read. that’s actually kind of a relief to me, bc it made me sad to interpret him as so heartless and unfazed the first time around. even if “hello lover” is an iconic moment, it’s a performance more than anything else. and pacat shows us this sooner than i recalled or first perceived. she’s not torturing us, the reader, as much as she’s torturing both damen and laurent. and it’s not even like a lazy misunderstanding kind of torture, this is genuinely complicated and they’re both in the wrong and they both are justified in this pain and hurt. i just couldn’t see that as well the first time, having binged like all of book 2 already and having no idea what would happen next and honestly just being shocked and betrayed and compelled by the massive mislead with laurent’s awareness of the situation

‘Is that what you want to hear, that I knew who you were and I still let you fuck me, my brother’s killer, who cut him down like an animal on the field?’

you know he doesn’t, laurent, that’s just what you’re telling yourself now that you’re forced to confront it. you started this scene with “hello lover” and your prepared speech, hoping to destroy damen emotionally, but once again you’ve just kinda played yourself. maybe just cool it with the emotional gambits for now, when it comes to damen, bc they only really seem to come back and hurt you (oh fuck he can’t hear me)

‘Shall I ask you how you did it? What he looked like when your sword went in?’ ‘No,’ said Damen.

laurent, shaking, pale, looks like he’s about to pass out: “you bastard, tell me about how you murdered my brother as i think about the fact that i let you fuck me in a similar way, go ahead just make it hurt more”

damen, not a therapist but still emotionally intelligent enough to know this isn’t really about punishing him: no, i don’t think i will. can you like sit down

‘Or shall I tell you about the illusion of the man who gave me good counsel. Who stood by me. Who never lied to me.’ ‘I never lied to you.’

that italicized “i” is interesting. is it an accusation of laurent’s own lying and hypocrisy, or a specification that damen never directly told laurent he wasn’t damianos? given damen’s well-established integrity, i’m guessing it’s the first option. again with the mutual moral arbitration. and damen wouldn’t want to take such a weak a cop-out as “well i never technically said it,” it’s just not typical of his character.

The words were awful in the silence that followed them. ‘“Laurent, I am your slave”?’ said Laurent. He felt the breath forced out from his lungs.

of course laurent takes it as the second option, though, and implies that by swearing himself to laurent and then bedding him damen was directly lying about his identity. because to laurent, damen =/= damianos. a slave can’t be a prince. so damianos, the prince, must have been intentionally lying about being damen, the slave. and that’s actually easier, and less painful, and less complicated to accept than any kind of nuanced alternative.

‘Don’t,’ he said, ‘talk about it like—’ ‘Like?’ ‘Like it was cold-blooded; like I controlled it. Like we didn’t both close our eyes and pretend I was a slave.’ He made himself say the exposing words. ‘I was your slave.’

he’s right. nothing much to add here. damen wasn't just literally laurent's slave, he had devoted himself emotionally as well, and he's admitting it here despite the fact that it makes him vulnerable—something laurent is too much of a (traumatized, understandable) coward to do himself. i love damen's characterization so much

‘There was no slave,’ said Laurent. ‘He never existed. I don’t know what manner of man stands before me now. All I know is that I am facing him for the first time.’ ‘He is here.’ His flesh ached as if he had been prised open. ‘We are the same.’

this gives us some insight to laurent’s actions in book 1—not necessarily excusing them, but making them fit better into what we’ve since learned about his moral code. it ties things together, which isn’t the same as making them simpler or easier to like. pacat is very very VERY good at establishing continuous moral ambiguity in her characters, and does not rush the slow burn of making ends meet. so when she does eventually begin to connect things, it’s satisfying, because it hasn’t been all been spelled out the whole time so readers don’t have to think for themselves. this, in reference to a lot of the series’s more problematic themes, is exactly why i think people end up seeing capri as apologism or glamorization. but by claiming that, i also think they’re exposing themselves as impatient, shallow, and (sorry) simply lazy.

but i don't just want to be reductive and uncharitable, because that would be shallow and lazy too. to be perfectly clear, i honestly can't blame people for disliking this series, and not being willing or able to have patience and understanding for its more problematic elements. this series is marketed as romance/erotica. it started as indulgent kink fic. it ended up evolving into its current state during its development—and i'm really glad it did, but that doesn't change the fact that so much of its marketing and premise imply certain things that it doesn't quite deliver. and if you look up the series today, as it's still being published years after its completion, it's still marketed in a way i find somewhat misleading. to the extent that when i picked it up, it was in an intentional attempt to expand my own horizons—i wanted to challenge myself with indulgent shameless problematic porn/romance, as opposed to the weak-ass "enemies" to lovers running rival bakeries gay romance novels with canva covers that haven't worked for me in the past. the logic was basically, "well, if i don't like romance on that side of the scale, maybe i'll like the opposite extreme, or at least learn more about what i don't like." and i did feel pretty challenged during book 1, to the point that for a while i only kept reading out of morbid curiosity and vague horniness rather than any genuine expectation of depth or satisfying storytelling. it was only around the assassination scene in book 1 that i started to see the book as something capable of more depth and intrigue than just like kinky debauchery, and it pretty much just snowballed from there. and as someone who frequently reads about these dark topics in other genres and contexts, i was familiar enough with the things happening on the page to at least stomach them and push foward.

however, if i was coming at the series from a different place—like if i loved cozy romance and had very little familiarity with reading about these topics—i can see the first book especially being very blindsiding and distressing, and not wanting to engage with it further. that's not laziness, it just means that the book wasn't for me.

and the nuance doesn't end there. one of the things i love most about this series is that, even if i was just looking for shameless slavekink porn and decidedly did not want to rise to the occasion of depth or thematic exploration, i would also walk away unsatisfied. because the truly problematic shit in these books is not shameless at all, and indulgence never comes without a cost. there are a few distasteful moments that make me roll my eyes, and the garden scene definitely prompts a Conversation—but as a whole, i think pacat is very aware of the moral implications of these themes. and i also think she's perfectly aware of the fact that many people get off on them.

this series almost feels like an accidental study of, like, the psychological implications of being a person compelled by dub-con and problematic kink, finding a sort of gratification in situations where those things ar kind of inevitable (like they are for damen in book 1). AND this is made even more complicated and brave by the fact that laurent is, very relevantly, a victim of serious sexual assault. like, as hot as some of the scenes in this book are, i really don't think it makes itself easy for people to just uncritically get themselves off to. it doesn't encourage shame, but it does encourage introspection. and a lot of people simply don't read erotica and romance to introspect. (couldn't be me though. if it isn't clear, i love the laurent of vere "having insane mindfucking sex fully clothed across the room" approach to eroticism).

i feel like it's actually kind of funny that i specifically got here, as a person who almost always reads books that force dark introspection, and assumed that this erotica/romance book would be mindless, but ended up with gestures vaguely instead. for me, coming across this series and realizing what it truly is was an incredibly happy accident. but for others, i completely understand how it could be the exact opposite, and it's not lazy or shallow to realize that you misunderstood what you were getting yourself into and step away.

what is lazy and shallow, though, is to either DNF and review based on those misconceptions, or keep reading simply to fuel your own disdain and discomfort. ultimately, i think that the true error of people who walk into capri wanting shameless porn or untroubling romance is the fact that they keep reading, even when it becomes clear that the book isn't doing that. and then they decide to evaluate the book based on expectations and standards that aren't the ones the author or fans have for the work itself. people seem to take out their anger towards the SUBJECTS of slavery or rape in fiction themselves on capri, rather then the way capri specifically portrays them. either because they fucking stopped reading the book and just wanted to go on a tangent on the topics in general, or hate-read to confirm their own pre-existing bias.

my point is, nobody has to read things that trigger or upset them, and it's okay to just pass on fictional stuff that makes you feel bad or frustrated. aspects of this series made me feel bad and frustrated, even on re-read, but i enjoy the intellectual and emotional exercise of exploring those feelings and better understanding the true meaning and purpose of the art. but there are certain topics in other works of fiction that i'm unwilling to explore, which would cause me to simply stop reading, and if asked for a review i'd just say that i'm not the right person to say. and there have been many times where i've continued reading a book, hoping it would change directions, and ended up just being like, "yeah, that wasn't for me," and moving on.

the exchange "there was no slave, he never existed" "here is here, we are the same" is almost a meta-commentary on the reception of the series as a whole. it would be dishonest to deny how this series started, and some of the themes and subjects it intentionally confronts. you can't say "there was no slave [kink], [it] never existed" because the narrative proceeded to be more of a commentary on kink rather than an uncritical display of it. kink, and dark topics in fiction in general, do all have depth, and while they might not be for everyone, they are for someone. exploring that depth is entirely optional, and i understand why people with certain experiences don't want anything to do with that exploration. but our personal tastes don't change the fact that subjects like slavery and rape exist, and that reality is inseparable from the stories that come from it. ultimately, the choice is whether we're willing to take that specific reality thoughtfully on, or else just walk away.

the people i have the hardest time with are the ones who choose neither of those options. like, what do you even get out of continuing to read something that you're unwilling to explore in good faith, or that you straight-up hate? just read something else. we only have so much time in the day. stop wasting yours, and stop wasting the time of people who actually enjoy the thing with your useless bad-faith criticism. sorry this tangent has totally departed from the chapter itself, but that really is what pisses me off so much about current-day online book culture. like, i'm thinking about all of those smug-looking booktubers making 2 hour videos called "i read [name of book that doesn't appeal to the lowest common denominator of people] so you don't have to." i know how long it takes to read books thoughtfully, and then to write, film, and edit videos. maybe stop wasting your own time and dig into something you love instead, or even try to make your own thing, and just hope that some smug asshole on the internet doesn't decide to do to your work what you've done to other people's work. but no, lazy cynicism and appealing to the easy gimmick of cringe is way more profitable, i guess. and it makes you less vulnerable to people criticizing work that came from your soul, because the work you're creating is completely soulless.

anyway. i wonder what kind of totally normal things damen and laurent are up to in the chapter i'm annotating

‘Kneel then,’ said Laurent. ‘Kiss my boot.’

"if you really are still a slave, even though we both know you’re a king, then do a demeaning slave thing right now"

He looked into Laurent’s excoriating blue eyes. The impossibility of it was like a sharp pain. He couldn’t do it. He could only gaze at Laurent across the distance between them. The words hurt. ‘You’re right. I’m not a slave,’ he said.

can’t indulge in the kink anymore by circumstantial necessity, but i’m sure they’ll find something even weirder to do instead on purpose

‘I am the King.’ He said, ‘I killed your brother. And now I hold your fort.’ As he spoke, Damen drew out a knife. He felt rather than saw all of Laurent’s attention swing to it. The physical signs were small: Laurent’s lips parted, his body tensed. Laurent didn’t look at the knife. He kept his eyes on Damen, who looked right back at him. ‘So you will parley with me as with a king, and you will tell me why you called me here.’ Deliberately, Damen tossed the knife onto the floor of the tent.

okay this is just extra of him, but i mean laurent got to do “hello lover” so damen deserves to be dramatic too as a treat. i also like what this symbolizes, as opposed to their previous knife moments. as defined by their stations, they don’t have a power imbalance anymore, and they don’t have a reason to be enemies. they are a prince and a king, not a master and a slave. they are military allies, teaming up against the regent. any power imbalance and beef they have now is emotional, complicated, and abstract, nothing clear-cut (haha) enough to be represented by an instrument of simple violence like a knife. and damen summarizes this perfectly, in the context of their previous knife moments, by viscerally reminding laurent of those encounters and then just tossing the thing across the room.

honestly, i bet laurent feels jealous of the clever performative gesture. and maybe a little turned on, too, despite the horrors. that’s a fun reversal.

‘Didn’t you know?’ said Laurent. ‘My uncle is in Akielos.’

yeah, he got a really good all-inclusive deal at the akielion sandals resort and needed a vacation after all of the murder and [redacted]

[beccarooni]

The End - Chapter 2

(Tag list: @ageofgeek, @elreyciervo, @woahthisguy, @generationblip - ask to be added!)

Loki hadn’t been permitted to show his face at Frigga’s funeral, but he’d had a good enough second-hand description to imagine it as if he had. Golden towers, draped with black cloth. His mothers boat, adorned with flowers, her sword placed in her hands and a golden veil over her face. A flaming arrow shot by their finest archers - and even that too was gold. Frigga would sail to the ends of their horizon; dissolving into flame and sparks, her spirit scattered amongst the stars, marking her journey to Valhalla. Where the brave shall live forever.

He knew the feelings well enough; even if the visual had not been his. He knew that aching feeling inside - like a creature, tiny and desperate, trapped beneath his ribcage and clawing to escape. Loss was something he was well acquainted with by now; and the splendour that Asgard attached to it seemed almost intrinsic to the process. Asgard’s warriors died the deaths of heroes; it was only right that their passages would be heralded by something as glorious as they had in life.

Cramped in the Quinjet bathroom, with barely enough room to get on his knees, Loki muttered out the parting prayer - quiet enough so that Banner couldn’t hear from the other side of the door. A piece of his armour caught against the sink, and all of a sudden he was struck by how wrong this felt.

Sadness, he expected. Fury, and rage; those were emotions he knew came with death. But this sense of wrongness, of shame - it was new. It was new, and uncomfortable, and he wanted it to stop.

There was no body to bury. Nothing to cast to the stars, no boat to lay his brother to rest in, no hammer to place gently against his chest. This was the best he could do, and it burned his face with shame. Loki didn’t know the fate of the others. They may have survived, but they also may have died. And that would make Thor the last one. Possibly the last true Asgardian, and this was how his parting from this world would be marked. No fanfare, no lanterns, no stars.

An airplane bathroom, smaller than a closet, and a few words whispered from cracked and bleeding lips. The harsh smell of cleaning agents, and the harsher glare of the flickering light above him. A body, his brother, left in the cold grip of space - maybe forever. The best he could hope for was that a passing garbage collector would take pity on the condemned, and at least allow them the decency of a disposal.

This was what Loki of Asgard had to offer the God of Thunder, and it sickened him to think of it.

Loki swallowed, pressed his forehead against the plastic walls, and muttered the last of the prayers.

“Thor, I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn but rejoice, for those that have died the glorious death.”

Glorious death.

He sniffed, slumping from his knees further to the floor, and shutting his eyes against the world.

There was nothing glorious about this.

His throat hurt, and he allowed himself a few tears as the neon light flickered above him. The prayer was the only tribute he had to give. Well, that and revenge, of course.

Revenge was a talent Loki had yet to perfect. His schemes had a nasty habit of going awry at the last second - but, he supposed, the one person who was always there to thwart said schemes wasn’t here anymore. Now, there was a stretch of open road between him and his dagger piercing Thanos’s heart. Wherever that monster landed, whatever cursed ground marked the final battle, he knew he would be there. His soul wouldn’t let him rest if he wasn’t.

That would be the final gesture he could make for his brother, then. Thanos would die at his hand, he would pay for all he had taken from them. The gentle ending that they were robbed of; where they sailed to earth through the stars, as their ancestors once had. Where they landed, safe and sound, and rebuilt their departed homeworld. If the Mad Titan was so fond of balance, then he could experience it for himself. The scales would tip even with his death; and then, perhaps Loki could rest. Leave for somewhere new, and condemn this blood soaked tapestry to the dirt.

The tale of the house of Odin; beginning in blood, and ending as it began. Crimson, it seemed, was destined to stain the pages of their storybook. And Loki had seen more than enough of it for one lifetime.

“Hey, Loki?”

Banner knocked on the door, gentle enough that Loki almost didn’t hear it over the sound of the engines.

“Are you alright in there? It’s just, uh, it’s been a while. I don’t know if you’re sick, or...yeah.”

Loki cleared his throat, moving to his feet. A quick glance in the mirror, an adjustment of illusions, and he was himself again. There was a certain image he wanted to uphold with the Avengers; even if Banner had certainly seen worse of him (tied to a chair in Valkyrie’s apartment and having a bottle lobbed at his head, for one). They still thought of him as a threat - and there was comfort in that perception. An evil being, a god mad with power - they wouldn’t feel sorrow. Evil wouldn’t cry for its kin. Evil was unstoppable, unstable; an ever shifting force. He didn’t want to disabuse any of them of that notion quite just yet.

“I’m fine. Just washing my hands.” He opened the door, coming face to face with the worrisome scientist standing in front of him.

“I would think that with all the riches in his possession, Stark would grace you with more than one bathroom.” Loki moved past Banner, stalking back to his seat with as much dignity as one could muster when exiting from an airplane bathroom.

“Yeah. It does make missions kinda awkward, sometimes.” Banner rubbed the back of his head, hovering by the door for a moment before shuffling back to the bench where he was sat.

“Six super-people and only one bathroom. It can get intense.”

“I can only imagine.” Loki grimaced as he sat down, folding his hands in his lap.

There was a silence, then. But one with a touch of anticipation. Banner kept looking at him, and after a few minutes it began to grate on his nerves. It was the face of a scientist, after all. The one brimming with questions but holding back purely on social decorum. Banner tapped his feet, bounced his leg, cast him a sideways look. Loki stared ahead impassively, keeping his eyes trained on the window in front of him. He could guess what question it was that Banner wanted answering; and, frankly, it wasn’t something Loki wanted to discuss right now.

Banner wanted to know why Loki had chosen to help them. Why his loyalties had so quickly changed. And of course it was a complex answer; one wrought with chaos and really it would require a play with at least twelve acts to get through, and -

“Why’d you say that earlier?”

The scientist spoke softly, and Loki turned to him, arching an eyebrow in confusion.

“About Thor being dead.”

Loki groaned, leaning until the back of his head touched the cold metal wall behind him.

“Why do you care?”

He wanted to muster some venom into his voice; to spit out the words with vitriol and hatred. But he was so tired, and it came out with more numbness than he intended.

Banner looked at him a little more intensely then, and he could’ve sworn a hint of green crept into the scientist’s eyes.

“Why do I care?” He shook his head, frowning deeply. “You keep telling me about how your brother - one of my closest friends - is dead, and then wonder why that might possibly piss me off?”

Loki scoffed, and Banner folded his arms, shifting his gaze into a dark corner of the quinjet.

“I care because you’re not even giving him a chance. It’s like you have no faith in him - when he’s had nothing but faith in you. You’ve died a lot, and he’s always expected you to come back sooner or later.”

“This is different.”

“How? How is it different? If you’ve come back enough times, then he can too. I know you don’t think he’s smart enough for that but he is. He’s smart, and strong, and kind, and I just-” Banner cut himself off as his face illuminated with green, and his voice shot a few octaves deeper than normal.

Loki scooted back, watching the scientist's face with a degree of caution. He didn’t expect the beast to appear - when one of the sorcerers had hurried Banner back into the building, looking thoroughly un-green, he assumed something had happened. Which was understandable, he supposed. Travelling through the bifrost was bad enough for the inexperienced - let alone the unfortunate circumstances surrounding their travel.

He and Hulk had an uneasy truce on the Statesman. They stayed out of eachothers way, mostly. Hulk was wary of him; and vice versa - even if Thor had tried his best to ease tensions between them with group meetings and ‘dinner nights’. But that wasn’t enough to make him jump for joy at the prospect of seeing Hulk again; especially on a cramped jet, and without his usual strength to defend himself.

Although, it might be nice to see the beast again. It would be a familiar face at the very least; and while he wasn’t concerned about the giant’s safety, he couldn’t deny that his strength had brought a certain comfort with it. When you had the hulk by your side, you felt unstoppable. And it would be rather nice to have that confidence for the battle ahead.

When the scientist seemed to catch himself, Loki was almost disappointed. Banner breathed heavily, the green veins on his face dying down and retreating below the surface.

“He can’t be dead, Loki. He just...He can’t be.”

Loki paused, leaning forward a little. Studying the man in front of him; the twitches, the clasped hands wringing together, the never ending tapping of the foot. The strained expression; the eyes that held hope, but something else underneath that. Something desperate.

Banner didn’t just want Thor back. He needed him.

And all at once, those accidental touches on the Statesman made sense. Every guiding hand on the small of Banner’s back, every meal that the two had shared together, each word of comfort and gentle smile; it wasn’t just comradery.

Loki’s eyes widened, and he laughed; a hollow, bitter sound.

“You liked him.”

“What?” Banner looked away from him then, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Of course I like him. I’ve known the guy for 6 years.”

“No, this is much more than a - Oh, what did he call it - a friend from work. You fancied him.”

He caught the sight of Bruce’s fists clenching at his sides, and for some reason that sparked something inside of him. A memory from long ago; of being trapped in that glass prison, with a sudden desire to set the beast loose.

“Well, maybe your paramour being dead will be enough to draw the beast back from the shadows. Does it make you angry, Bruce? Does the thought of someone you love dying for nothing fill you with rage?”

“Stop.” Bruce dropped to a whisper, screwing his eyes shut as if that could drown out the sound.

Some part of him told him to take pity on the man. A word of wisdom from his mother; that grief shared was grief halved. And maybe this wasn’t very nice of him, and maybe it wasn’t at all in line with honouring his brother’s memory, but at this moment he couldn’t find it within him to care. He wanted glory again - wanted the feeling of control that he’d had back on the helicarrier.

“I wonder if you ever confessed it to one another - or did he die without ever knowing it? You know, I always assumed that when his heart stopped he thought of Asgard, but maybe he thought of you. Maybe the last thing he ever felt was heartbreak, because he never knew if you loved him back-”

“Stop it!” Bruce’s voice deepened as he leapt to his feet, the veins along his neck deepening to a dark green; but it went further than that. Green blotches spread across his arms, and there was a momentary wildness in his eyes that Loki recognised.

The beast was here. Loki bared his teeth in a fierce grin, hands waiting for his daggers and his body itching for a fight.

But none came.

Banner’s fists stayed clenched, he shook with anger, but that was apparently all the good doctor could muster. The remnants in his eyes died out, like the last few sparks of a campfire, and he remained firmly Bruce Banner-sized. Loki sank back into his chair after the moment of apprehension, sighing.

“I was hoping that would work.” He shook his head dejectedly, a scowl creeping into his face and voice. “I get the sense that we might need him, eventually.”

“Jesus, Loki. So, what - your plan was to get me mad enough for a hulkout? And you thought now was the perfect moment? Here?” Banner gestured around their surroundings - to the low ceiling of the quin jet, the fragile equipment piloting their journey.

Loki’s head thunked against the wall as he melted back into the seat, shrugging listlessly. “I suppose I didn’t think that one through very well.”

“No, you didn’t.” Banner paced about the ship, wringing his hands together before he turned back to Loki, a hint of that previous anger emanating into his tone.

“Look, I know you miss him. And just because I don’t think he’s dead doesn’t mean I’m not worried about him - I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying about him,” He paused, looking up to the ceiling - his face contorting as if he was having to force these words out.

“But don’t you dare take this out on me. Mourn, if you want. Get angry, get sad - but don’t you take this out on me just because I still have hope.”

“Hope.” Loki chuckled mirthlessly. “Hope is a fool's gamble, Banner.”

“Maybe.” Bruce swallowed, his features smoothing out as his eyes turned to the viewing window beside them. “But it’s a gamble I’m willing to take.”

[vaguely-concerned]

The Mandalorian Chapter 11 reactions; the ‘the sea is a harsh mistress’ edition

- on first watch this wasn’t really one of my favorite episodes. I think it’s something to do with... one of the many things I love about the mandalorian is how it made the star wars universe feel HUGE. big and surprising and unknowable, there could be fucking anything out there man we don’t know. so having first bo katan show up and then ahsoka being set up right after (quite aside from who’s rumoured to play her, which is an entirely different can of wormy beans) in additon to opening the season on tatooine... eh. I’m not that into it, it feels like shrinking the world. we haven’t even gotten to see any other type of force user yet. it is only early/mid season tho so they’re probably going to pull some unexpected twists on us 

my opinion might change with rewatches too, that happens quite a bit with this show!

- 

🎶I’VE COME TO TALK WITH YOU AGAIN🎶

honestly I had kind of a hard day yesterday and watched this the next morning and kept pointing tiredly to the crest like ‘it me tho’ 

- I was unreasonably happy about seeing the calamari flan again hahaha he’s been keeping that shit in his pockets for a season and a half now (didn’t he pay with some at one other point too?)! also the sound effects for them are SO EXCELLENT, I keep thinking about how well this show does texture which is wild considering how it’s filmed 

- the warm pat din gave frog lady’s arm when he thanked her and said goodbye 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 I love the small ways he’s thawing 

-

my heart ached so much for him at this point, he just looks so small and tense and lost, like a kid who’s lost his parents in a supermarket

(he keeps his hand on the blaster the whole time too so he knows this is a bad scene but now they’re right out in the middle of the ocean already soooo) 

- din’s very very very dry sense of humour is so blessed. ‘a bowl of chowder for my friend’ faklhfsadkjlfhsadkjhfsd

the baby’s look when he poked the squid thing with his knife too -- yodito’s like ‘dad is a wizard??’ haha. some good baby & dad stuff in this one 

- oh din... side quest boy, side quest booooooyyy

- the shot when bo katan helped him out of the water is perfectly mirroring the scene of bb!din being pulled up to safety by the mandalorian in the flashback, which seems Very Intentional

I Extremely Do Not Trust Her in the larger scale tho. I think it’s important that din knows now that he was raised in a very specific offshoot of the mandalorians ant that there’s some Stuff he hasn’t been told, but I also think it’s crucial to remember that her pov is not unbiased either and she, in fact, already has an established tendency to selectively share information with him to manipulate him into fulfilling her goals. (which he realizes because he keeps saying ‘that is not my mission, my mission is the child’ and I could not love him more). hell, I’m not sure exactly how ‘the children of the watch’ were positioned within death watch, but she was fucking death watch too for the longest time! and she hardly left for particularly noble reasons, she just didn’t like maul! she already lost mandalore like twice, do we just have to trust that third time’s the charm or what! 

she lied to him about the scope of the mission to force him into a position to do what she wanted (fully knowing he’s responsible for a child!!) and she called that ‘the way’ just as easily as the thing about not letting his bravery be forgotten! big red warning lights, NO! I think the thing is that din is having to find his own ‘way’ of being mandalorian (/how does one be a person exactly help?? relatable content, and he’ll get there in the end I’m sure he’s so good), but her way is no less fucked up to me than the children of the watch from what we’ve seen so far. she’s good at killing imperials though which is of course a mark in her favour

(considering that the episode gives her the epithet ‘the heiress’... yeah that’s probably a hint that she’s loyal first and foremost to her entitlement, getting the position she considers hers by right of inheritance. guess we’ll see if the text agrees with her)  

- ‘mandalorians are stronger together’ yeah that’s probably why the cosmic balance makes sure they’re mostly engaged in being at each other’s throats lol 

- so I might be feeling kind of sketch about these guys but on the other hand... when that one lady saved the baby and then promptly took off her helmet to reveal she looks like t h i s ?

you better BELIEVE I was ready to fall down on one knee and propose right then and there holy shit

- ...wow if he didn’t have the jet pack din probably would have just sunk like a rock and drowned there huh 😨 that armour’s pretty heavy, turns out

- in happier news: din has become so good at reading what the child is expressing and responding/labeling the feeling for him! that’s so important to his development! ‘I know you’re hungry’ and both telling and showing him there’s a solution! still a bit of an issue that he thinks he can inform the baby of things like it’s a reasoned adult and have it understand, but we’re getting there we’re getting there lol

- that poor lady guiding them in for landing and sounding more and more worried fhkasjdlhfkjsdlahf (and he fucking TURNS OFF THE RADIO or whatever he’s using to talk to her through sdkfhaksdfhjs he takes a precious split second just to cut her off asfdjhaslkdfsdfhsda I love my salty dad) 

- when the fisherman asshole tells mando he knows where to find more of his people there’s the tinkling bell sound in the background music, I think it’s meant to convey almost childlike longing for belonging and connection, for finding someone who’ll know what to do? 

- when they took off their helmets and baby looked up at din like ‘???dad what the fuck? can you do that???’. (or like he just sensed his father taking a shitload of psychic damage all in one go)

- the way din didn’t start breathing again until they got the baby up from the water and he had him in his arms... the way he held him... sladfhasdklfhsjakdhfjsakldhfsakjldhfsjkadhfjaskdhfskajdhfjsdakhfslakhfskladhfsakljdhfjskadlhfkjsld

that whole scene was like a nightmare, so desperately unpleasant, in a way it mirrors the way the mandalorians have been hunted down and pummeled these last few generations, this must sort of be what it feels like to him subconsciously 

- din isn’t particularly inflexible as a person, after the initial kneejerk rejection he did listen to what they said and is carefully considering it (he did say ‘this is the way’ back at the end!)   

- the baby’s babbling when he wakes up and looks around in the beginning sounds half like ‘baba?’ and I almost had a heart attack

- loved how greasy and awful and dumb all the empire dudes were (and the comedy on board the ship too it was good for me) 

- the boob plates huh. shit they’ve shown with the armorer that they don’t have to do that in any way shape or form and they still brought the boob plates back :/ I guess it’s so they match up with the rebels/clone wars look, evoking that ~*era*~ and everything, but I don’t have to like it lol  

- I feel so validated in my theory that the razor crest is symbolic of din’s sense of self  (now with beautifully added commentary!) after this haha (and also so so scared now they might be ditching it for a new ship eventually). it’s in pieces, his world view is going to pieces and can’t be patched together the way it was before, from what he knows he’s about to deliver the baby to someone else who’ll understand/love/deserve him better (I do think that feeling is still in him) and he doesn’t even have the certainty of the code anymore to fill the void. oh buddy. 

the discomfort I felt when we got back into the cockpit -- into where it’s supposed to be familiar and safe! -- and saw all the ocean junk lying around, making it feel weird and changed and dirty (it probably smells like rotten seaweed in there now :( no likey)... I mean it was also very funny to see the pilot’s chair held together with a literal fishing net, but please favreau leave my dad’s car/ego alooooone 

- baby laughing his little bum off at din catching the small sea monster before it got him and then munching it......... the ‘there’s nothing in this world my dad can’t fix’ safe energy.......... I’m so scared we’re coming up on something din can’t fix 

- knitwear in star wars: I didn’t know I wanted it, but I am ELATED with having been given it

- moff gideon’s amazing evil voice... back in our ears, in our hearts, I gleefully hate him 

- at least din’s armour is clean again after that (awful) swim? one must appreciate some silver linings along the way I suppose

- din goes straight for the main pilot’s seat once they get the imperial out of it, so he must feel really secure that he’s probably the best man for the job; he is genuinely a good pilot! (and after this I am wondering even MORE who taught him. who raised you within the mandos din??)

- even while everything is new and scary and falling apart we can live safe in the knowledge that at least frog lady and frog husband had a good day and will have a good and happy frog life together with their frog children

couple goals tbh 

(I don’t necessarily know how it works for frog people but I uh. guess they got busy quickly huh hahaha good thing mando didn’t turn up again until later)

[aethelar]

Please if you ever feel like doing it do write more about Newt and Graves and Credence as this ridiculous but lovely family I am absolutely in love with your awkwardly protective Percy and Newt as this a little bit insane dad that Credence adores. Also please write something about Credence working with dragons like let's give this boy everything that is the best in the world.

Credence working with dragons oh dear lord, are you trying to give Graves a heart attack? Scare him into an early grave? (a grave for Graves, hah, see what level of bad pun you’ve driven him to with your mad ideas)

I mean, didn’t we spend the whole of the last piece discussing how Newt nearly got killed by dragons while Graves was busy fending off assassination threats because of the bloody dragons? We also discovered Credence’s eternal love affair with dragons, that’s true. Newt and Grave discovering what dragons meant to Credence, that went like this:

When Newt asks Credence what his favourite creature is, Graves is expecting him to choose the marmite. Credence loves the marmite. He loves feeding it, cradling it in his arms like something precious and checking the temperature of its bottle against his wrist to make sure it’s warm enough. He plays with it, making play-grabs at its tentacles and acting comically vanquished when it tangles itself around his feet and topples him over. He sits there, in the dark and the quiet with the marmite’s steady, pulsing glow, and sometimes he hums, and sometimes he doesn’t, and sometimes he curls in a ball and doesn’t cry and the marmite spreads its tentacles over him and keeps glowing and keeps the dark at bay -

Credence loves the marmite. But when Newt asks him what his favourite creature is, Credence hesitates. His fingers curl back, his outstretched arms stops reaching for the honey and he almost shrinks away from the breakfast table, the way he does when he’s remembering something he used to be told was wrong.

Graves has got good at hiding his murderous face. Newt hasn’t got quite as good at hiding his concerned and sad face, but Credence is staring fixedly at his toast so thankfully doesn’t see.

“When I was little,” he starts, voice low, “I wanted to be a dragon.”

Newt blinks. “A dragon?” he asks, thrown, and now he’s the one drawing back as his eyes become clouded with memories.

(under the table Graves balls his hands into fists uselessly, because he can’t murder the people who hurt Credence and he can’t murder the entire war that hurt Newt so what good even is he)

“Why a dragon?”

Credence shrinks further into his seat, almost dissolving into black and sinking through it. Almost, but not quite. It’s progress.

“Dragons fly,” he says. “They can fly away, and they’re big and armoured, and -” he shrugs and visibly pulls himself up, though he still addresses his toast rather than them. “Nothing can hurt a dragon, I guess.”

Newt makes a wounded, choked noise and Credence flicks his gaze up, alarmed. Graves curses because Credence doesn’t know, does he? No, Newt hasn’t told him - Newt’s barely told Graves what happened to his ironbellies, he wouldn’t have told Credence. Wouldn’t have let him know how much dragons can be hurt when wizards have a use for them.

“Flying,” he says in a desperate attempt to change the subject. The word comes out too fast and hard and Credence, in this universe, is still nervous around Graves, but Graves barrels on. “Frank’s old enclosure is big enough. You can learn to fly there.”

Credence freezes, caught on the edge of being excited but not yet brave enough to allow it, and darts a glance back at Newt. Newt pulls himself out of the past and smiles, and the dragons are successfully put aside, for now.

Later, when Credence is all but buried under the marmite’s protective tentacles, Graves tells him what happened in the war. What he knows of it, at least, what Newt won’t mind him saying.

“They hurt them?” Credence asks, wide eyed. “The dragons? They hurt Newt’s dragons?”

Graves shifts, uncomfortable. There’s still a part of him that wants to keep Credence sheltered, to pretend that bad things don’t happen to good people and that his family will be safe. Credence isn’t a child though. Graves can’t feed him lies, however comforting they may be.

“It was war,” he says finally, as though it were an excuse. (sometimes, when he thinks of the things he’s done in the past, he isn’t sure if he believes that or not). “It was wrong, and what we’re doing - what Newt’s doing - is trying to make sure it never happens again. For dragons and all the magical creatures that get used by wizards like that.”

Credence turns it over in his mind and finally nods, slotting the new information into his steadily expanding world view. “And we’ll help,” he says with such finality and confidence that Graves aches to pull him close in a one armed hug.

“That’s the idea,” he says instead, keeping his distance for now. “That’s the plan.”

And that’s the start, the beginning of Credence and dragons. He finds a little statue of a dragon in a market in Madagascar and runs his fingers over the smooth scales; he puts it back and walks on and Graves buys it for him. He wins a stuffed dragon at a fair in California and presents it to Newt with a hesitant, shy smile, and when Newt smiles back Credence grins and wins two more stuffed dragons to make a family. He points, shyly, at the dragon bedspread when Graves asks how he wants to decorate his room, and he laughs in delight at the dragon pyjamas Newt gets him for Christmas. Slowly dragons invade every part of his life, flying over his ceilings and curling over his shoulders like freedom and joy.

But that’s not all they are. There’s something changed about him, something older, somehow, a sense of purpose to the way he follows Newt from mountain to forest and patiently saves the creatures they find. When they make plans to break into an illegal encampent and free a grootslang from hunters after its diamonds, Credence doesn’t stay behind to watch the suitcase anymore. He fights for Newt’s creatures as much as Graves does, he cares for those that stay in the case as much as Newt does, and he grows from frightened child to determined young man to driven adult.

So when, eight years and five continents later, he says: “I want to start a dragon preserve,” it’s not because dragons can fly and are big and armoured, nor because he has seventeen dragons perched on his windowsill and another one tucked under his pillow. It’s because dragons are hunted and put to work and three species are close to extinction with another seven headed that way. It’s because of all the magical creatures, dragons are the most exploited, the hardest to care for, the most at risk from the wizarding world and the muggle world alike.

“I want to start a dragon preserve,” he says, and Newt blinks once, twice, and hiccoughs a laugh.

“You’ll need a bigger suitcase,” he says, and Graves starts mentally compiling a list of the strongest fire-proof charms he knows, because Credence won’t just need a bigger suitcase, he’ll need a dragon-wrangling suit, an unplottable patch of land - probably several unplottable patches of lands - not to mention the wards and someone will have to arrange for who knew how many herds to move in for the dragons to hunt from, and aren’t some species of dragon aquatic? How does one go about warding bits of the ocean, that’s a question, Credence will need the answer to that - and if he’s working at sea, he’ll also need forty seven different types of charm to stop him drowning just in case, maybe Graves can persuade him to wear a permanent bubblehead charm -

Would Credence object if Graves hired a squad of bodyguards to follow him round at all points in time, because a dragon preserve, people won’t be happy with that because people are short sighted and stupid, but still -

Credence? Credence! Body guards, yes or yes?

[oracleofbullshyt-blog]

Chapter 10 - Fighting the Doctrine

i couldn't help myself and finished the next chapter alot earlier than usual, was it the procrastination for tests, was it the plea of @nargles-everywere? guess we’ll never know!

As always feel free to send in asks and messages! especially if anything is confusing or unclear in the stories.

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

The opponents rushed towards each other, kicking up dust as they weaved around the rocky ground. They clashed in the centre of the dome grappling as they tried to throw one another to the ground, Vahatu disengaged and leaped away from his opponent, they circled each other slowly trying to size one another up. The Avisxian twins sat in their chairs transfixed at the two predators in front of them.

“Look how both splay their offensive arm scales out.” Mantis’s voice came whispering next to them,

“Vahatu’s tail is scaled and meant for combat, look how it coils and teases, the guards is to stocky and thick for combat.”

“Yes, but look how large the guard is! They must be twice as strong as Vahatu”

Vahatu moved first, pushing off the rocks underneath his feet he darted towards the guard, his blades slashing against the armoured lower wrists of his opponent whilst frantically blocking the strikes aimed at his head from the staff with his upper offensive arms. Vahatu brought his tail up to strike but the guard caught it and used it to pull him off balance, opening him up for a heavy blow to his head. Vahatu staggered back dazed as the guard swore and looked towards her shredded hand that was bleeding profusely.

The room erupted with noise as Vahatu had been hit and the crew stood their transfixed, there was no way to help, there they sat watching to see if their crew man would survive.

The guard lunged forward again while Vahatu stood trying to regain his balance, catching him in the stomach with a gut wrenching blow she used the momentum to lift Vahatu off his feet and then followed it by delivering a blow while he lay on the ground spread out.

Initium drew in a sharp breath as he was wracked by a cough that left blood dripping down his lower mandible.

The guard walked away triumphant raising her staff to the cheers and roar of the crowd, Vahatu slowly got up and took off to the nearby rocks in the dome as soon as he could,  where above lay a broken cityscape, the dome sensed the movement and flashed once slowly rotating to bring the new battle ground into view, the guard realised what was happening and ran to keep up.

The captain watched as the dome rotated, intelligent in design, as soon as a new landscape was chosen by an opponent the dome rotated, Wolfs looked at the captain,

“Captain do you see this, he’s changed the field to suit himself.”

“Vat’s fights better in enclosed spaces where he can react off obstacles, whereas the maroon one seems to be stronger where it can use that staff in the open”

The captain mused to himself more than anyone else as Vahatu scrambled over the rubble and in the cityscape preparing to ambush the guard as it walked with its staff out in front of itself.

Vahatu leaped off the rubble and slashed the guard across its back with his tail, digging deep it cut into him sending him stumbling forward, he followed this by pushing off the wall to give himself momentum and delivered a cut to his opponent’s legs with his blades.

The guard raised his staff trying to swing it around to land a blow, but every movement kept being interfered with in the small confines of the grounds they were currently in. It realised his error in following Vahatu here and lunged forward with all their might breaking through a crumbling wall that stood at the end of the platform containing the cityscape, jumping through the breach the guard stormed into another landscape closely followed by Vahatu as the dome rotated.

It was green and lush, a tropical forest with small shrubs lying low and tall skinny trees dotting throughout, the two opponents stood facing each other again as their chests heaved with every break, both bloodied and battered.

The crew watched in silence and awe as the two Efialtese fought, their power and speed terrifying as they grappled and released and fought. Over and over again they came to blows cutting, breaking, slicing, bruising, until they were both battered and broken.

They stood apart once more staring at each other, the guard stood leaning on her staff with two of her arms as she limped around in circles, her maroon leg in stark contrast with the blue blood that was pasted across it. Its face scratched and bloodied she looked on in a sneer at Vahatu, who stood their one arm being cradled against his body, possibly broken at the shoulder joint, the right side of his face swollen from a blow so that he couldn’t see out of it. He too was bleeding out of several cuts across his body in varying lengths.

The two fighters stood there and amidst the sneers and blood, they looked at one another again, really seeing the other for the first time. The maroon guard raised her hand to his forehead and with an outstretched talon she slowly drew a line down her own head to his chin. The stadium erupted in noise as Vahatu repeated the gesture.

‘’It appears as if your outcast has earned the respect of this one now, it is a shame that it will not finish the fight” The inquisitor looked at the captain levelly as if waiting for a response.

Before anything could be said the guard rushed forward with his staff, she was blocked neatly and its hand jarred with the impact dropping its weapon, at Vahatu’s onslaught she was left defending herself with her upper arms from blades and talons until she shifted and caught her opponents wrist dislodging the blades with a two quick movements, allowing her to swing Vahatu around. Vahatu scrambled to fight off his opponent, eventually using his momentum to follow through and latch onto the guards back digging in deep with his talons. The maelstrom of movement and colour ended abruptly with Vahatu in the same position as when he finished off the pirates so many days ago, himself behind his opponent and both sets of arms with there offensive scales dug into the shoulder joints drawing blood, his tail had reached up and coiled around the guards neck ready to finish it for good.

The guard stood still not daring to move, her eyes wide and pleading.

The grey Efialtese that had started the match rose up out of the floor and inspected the two fighters, turning towards the Inquisitor he made a small gesture. The Inquisitor stood up and raised his arm. The crowd looked on in suspense. His arm sharply lowered and the crowd roared.

Vahatu looked on at the kill order he received and then back now to the closed eyes of his opponent. He released her with a few choice words and walked away towards the crew, limping and cradling his arm as he went. He spat on the ground as he went staring down the Inquisitor as he approached the crew.

“I do not follow this doctrine anymore, I will not kill my brothers because you say.”

He walked off out of the room to the exit and back to Leonidas’s Shield, not getting far before Ben and Aengal came running up to help support him back. They were allowed to leave the carrier ship unhindered, looking over there backs the entire way to the ship however.  

When they arrived at the airlock, they were met by a small pale pink Efialtese and in her hand an intricately carved bronze star, with small delicate gold inlays.

“The Inquisitor wishes of you to have this Outcast, a token for your fight. You are to be informed that the Inquisitor approves of the outcome.” It said in a childlike voice before walking away.

Once back in the ship Vahatu lay in the med bay waiting for scans to be done by Aengal the Yemmae as Initium turned over the small token in her hand. The rest of the crew had left him to go to their quarters after much talking and making sure that he was ok.

“What is it?”

“It’s a royal promise, I can ask for any favour or boon and I shall receive it. I can even ask to be reinstated to a clan.”

With a small voice, he stared out of the window next to his bed while he spoke. Not wanting to look at the token that could change his life.

[neverwatchedonepiece]

625: "Tension! Aokiji vs Doflamingo!"

One a scale of one to Kuzan, how bad is Doflamingo’s day going?

Only have time for one episode today but luckily it was a good one. 625 was crammed with intrigue and plot acceleration - not to mention adorable slice of life moments.

I know the next three episodes are filler (the thumbnail at the top corner of each video gave it away). Are they worth watching? I think I spied the Kung Fu Dugongs in the preview to 626. Those little guys were brilliant. xD

Mmmm... Dat Delicious Peril

Must confess I was hyped for this episode. The action continued were 624 left off: Doflamingo astride Smoker with Kuzan at his back.

“I need you to get off my friend.”

The way Doflamingo reacted to the imminent danger was interesting. The slow creep of ice towards him was a warning. He didn’t move. Slasher smile fixed to his face, he glanced about, considered: am I calm enough to retreat and let this slide?

Doflamingo served a large helping of Hell No.

He decided, “Screw it,” and went for the kill. Smoker almost went to the Big Cigar Shop in the sky. Luckily, his awesome friend had his back and froze Doflamingo’s feathery ass.

I knew Doflamingo wasn’t beaten because the cheeky little glint of his frozen shades told me so. He broke out of Kuzan’s ice casing and just stood there, staring at Kuzan, chuckling like a madman. (Also I love how Kuzan’s Devil Fruit lets opponents escape with all their clothing and accessories intact. He’s a good guy, really.)

For a second, I thought there might be a fight. Dramatic music kicked in. Kuzan and Doflamingo stared each other down. Then Doflamingo sauntered straight past Kuzan like it was nothing.

“I don’t want to fight you,” he said. “But if I can’t keep Smoker’s mouth shut, I will have to change my approach.”

Straight up threat there. Smoker now knows he can’t go blabbing about what Vergo has done. It’s probably in Smoker’s best interest, to be honest. If Vergo infiltrated the Marines, there might be more of Doflamingo’s agents crawling about the woodwork. Then again, Akainu is now in charge, and I’ll bet he’d love nothing more than to detect and crush any hidden pirates in the Marine ranks.

Doflamingo’s next dig was more interesting.

“But could you tell me one thing? Just what are you now, Kuzan? The things I’ve heard about you aren’t cool. The face of a vagabond is different from one who has a purpose.”

Now I’ve watched Film Z, Doflamingo’s comment “What are you now?” echoes what Kuzan said about himself. At that point, Kuzan wasn’t sure and even asked himself, “Just what am I now?” He sort of answered his own question, referring to himself as “an ally of justice.” Maybe. 

I still don’t know the full significance of Doflamingo’s pointed dig at Kuzan, but from the way Kuzan reacted once Doflamingo, Baby 5 and Buffalo flew off and Smoker said, “You’re not connected with the underworld, are you?”.... well, it got me wondering.

Kuzan sent the nosey G5 guys away while he had a quiet word with Smoker.

“I’m still the same person, Smoker.”

“That’s good then.”

I wonder if this means Kuzan *is* operating in the underworld, but that he told Smoker he was “the same person” means Smoker is no longer above dodgy dealings as long as Kuzan is still on the right side.

“At any rate, don’t take your eyes off Doflamingo. He is both a Shichibukai and a king of Dressrosa. He is an extremely dangerous pirate.”

Well, the king status explains why he has a massive house and a ton of servants. But this further complicates matters. Is Doflamingo an actual king, like one of the World Nobles? Or is this something lost in translation, like a kingpin, drug lord type of a banana republic?

“Tell Sakazuki to get the admirals moving. In the worst case scenario, the cogs will be destroyed and this will become the biggest threat that Sakazuki’s new Marines will have to face. I’ve warned you.”

Laying aside the whole aura of menace and the existence of important (metaphorical?) cogs, the fact that Kuzan is still willing to work with Akainu (Sakazuki is his real name, right?) speaks volumes about his character. I’m still not certain if Akainu knows Kuzan is still supporting them or whether this is a voluntary thing on Kuzan’s part and he continues to help from the shadows because he feels he must.

Either way, I like it.

Also laughed a lot when he forgot he was going to ask G5 to keep what had happened a secret. Lol, he’s still absent-minded. 

Still, the escalating sense of imminent conflict is great. Glad the plot is building towards something again. I wonder if the Marines know about Doflamingo, Kaidou and SMILE? Maybe Kuzan knows and that’s why he’s secretly warning Akainu to mobilise?

Maybe it’s something completely different.

Either way, I place some of the blame on this guy.

Hi, Caesar!

Aww, look. He’s thrilled to be the cause of it all. xD

On board Sunny, Law explained the trade relationship between Doflamingo and Kaidou. For some reason, he was cool explaining the plan to Foxfire and Momonosuke, who were hanging around listening in for no real reason. Still not sure why Law was cool with the alliance’s secret plan being heard by a pair of randoms from Wano, but I’m sure there is a reason.

I loved that even Foxfire and Momonosuke were shocked at the Alliance going after Kaidou.

Law also explained the plan in greater detail, which is great for us fans.

“To defeat Kaidou,” he said, “we must whittle down his fighting force. Kaidou has been buying many Zoan SMILEs from Doflamingo. There are many risk to SMILEs, but despite that, Kaidou now has over five hundred Devil Fruit users in his crew.”

First off, holy crap. Five hundred Devil Fruit users in his crew? That is a number, it really is.

Secondly, I was wrong about Kaidou wanting to use the SMILEs to boost his own beastly strength. He’s creating stronger crew. That’s definitely better. Much more of a threat if you have strong crew as well as being an absolute unit yourself.

Thirdly, there are risks to SMILEs. I wonder if these risks will give the StrawHearts (my new name for the Alliance) an in with Kaidou’s crew? As in, the ones SMILE didn’t work on will be injured or bitter and willing to betray Kaidou? Hmm...

“But Kaidou won’t be making any more,” Law added, and looked straight at Caesar.

Caesar was like, “Who me? Ehehehehe.”  I loved that moment when Chopper was like, “Omg, you create the ingredients for SMILE? That’s really impressive!” and when Law said, “Nah, he just improved Vegapunk’s work,” Chopper was like, “Oh.”

Totally don’t get why no one is impressed by that, to be honest. Science is all about improving and refining others’ work, even things that seem to be completely new. If Caesar adapted and improved SMILE, that’s still a legit achievement, I think. (I can’t believe I’m sticking up for Caesar. xD)

At any rate, Law also revealed there is another SMILE factory on Dressrosa. Their mission: find and destroy. Once that’s done, Kaidou won’t he able to increase his forces. The only caution (and a significant one at that) is that Doflamingo is a total pro and will not sit idly by while the StrawHearts mess up his business.

Luckily, Dressrosa is also where Foxfire and Momonosuke need to go. Apparently, they’re off to rescue a comrade who is imprisoned there. (Maybe that’s why Law was okay for Foxfire and Momo sticking around. It seems like Oda is going to include them in next arc’s plotline too. I think this is the first time this has happened in One Piece. And not only to them, but a villain too!)

This Was Just Great

Once Law was done explaining the plan, clouds gathered overhead. It was slice of life time. I know I love plot and intrigue but I also cherish those little peaceful moments between arcs, when the Strawhats are just hanging out on Sunny, enjoying the freedom of the sea.

There was a hair-raising moment when Sunny was almost crushed by a single giant hailstone (thanks Nami, Usopp, Chopper and Franky for timely avoidance tactics.) Momonosuke was super impressed by the Coup de Burst and Nami offered him a tour of Sunny.

I was like, “Yes! Give him a tour so I can see it too!” xD

Nami spent hours taking little Momonosuke round Sunny. He saw the fish tank, the library, got some lunch from Sanji, was examined by Dr Chopper - complete with hilarous tache - and sort of spoiled it with that moment in the bath with Robin but... meh, it’s Oda’s humour so whatever. :)

The nighttime scene was nice too. Usopp and Chopper dressing up in samurai armour and messing about on deck. Luffy fishing in armour (lol). Foxfire and Zoro sparring because Foxfire thought Zoro was the zombie swordsman from Thriller Bark because he had Shunsui (lol). Foxfire’s fiery sword slashes waking up and almost frying Caesar (double lol).

Brook said some pretty smart things about Doflamingo right at the end, which I am eighty-five percent certain no one will have heard because he was half talking to himself.

“Between losing his place as a Shichibukai and fighting a Yonko. I rather expect him to do neither and come after us.”

Me too, Brook. Me too.

And there was a rabbit turtle thing plus a guy with flowing cape, top hat and scary, shiny monocle. I’m guessing he is the filler bad guy?

Listen to Broooook. He knoooooows.

[adventures-in-a-world-of-fiction]

Endgame thoughts

Spoilers under the cut.

On the whole, I liked it better than Infinity War. There was a lot going on, a lot of characters, and a lot of plots, but the plots hung together a bit better.

Things I liked:

- There were some epic moments. The whole Avengers Assemble moment was awesome and is the sort of moment only MCU could have pulled off because so many characters from so many movies all came together at once. No other franchise would have had the same scale to pull off a moment like that.

- Cap wielding Thor's hammer and a broken shield was great. I liked the little "I knew it" moment from Thor, and the touch of humour about them swapping weapons partway through the battle.

- "I am Iron Man."

- Cap v Cap fight, with the "Bucky is alive" distraction moment.

- The "on your left" call back.

- I liked the scene in the support group meeting where the guy was talking about his date. This amused me because only last weekend, I was on a panel discussing queerbaiting in movies, and one of the other panelists made a prediction. They said that the first genuine representation (i.e. not queer coding, not just subtext or implied, not something homophobes could ignore or just dismiss as a joke) in an MCU movie wouldn't be a main character or even a sidekick. Their prediction was that the first representation in an MCU movie would be some background character, and here we have a nameless guy in a support group who got about half a dozen lines. I liked the moment and I guess background character representation is better than no representation, and we got to see Cap being supportive of it, it just feels like we're being tossed crumbs.

- Pepper in her armour

- Peter and Mr Stark reunion

- Some of the time travel scenes were amusing. I've never been much of a Stony shipper, but after the scene of Tony and Scott debating Cap's ass, I can see it.

- Falcon getting the shield.

There are probably a bunch more that will occur to me. Lots of nice little moments through the film.

Major plot hole:

- The whole point was that they weren't going to change the past. That was a whole big thing that they stressed massively - they were going to get the stones, use them, and then put them back exactly as before without changing anything. Dusting Thanos and co breaks that. Thanos came forward in time by nine years for the epic showdown, meaning that by dusting him and his army, Tony prevented everything that happened in those nine years. Everything should have changed. The only way to have made it work was to put Thanos back in his own time. They could have done it, what with all that stuff Thanos was saying about it being inevitable. They could have had him go back to his own time knowing how it would end, or used the mind stone to wipe out his memories of future!Gamora and travelling in time so that he would act in exactly the same way. Maybe that's what Tony did and it just looked like he dusted everyone, because that's the only way any of the movie would have any sort of internal consistency. That's the headcanon I'm going to have to go with.

Minor plot hole:

- What happened with Loki? He disappeared with the tesseract in the middle of the movie. Presumably he ended up back where he was supposed to be, a prisoner on his way to Asgard, or that's another major plothole, so how did that happen? Was it left deliberately ambiguous in case they want to bring Loki back for a future movie? I wanted to have an end credits scene giving some hint of that, or at least something. As it was, it was just left hanging.

Bits I'm upset about to varying degrees:

- Captain Marvel was sorely underutilised. She was barely in it. She's an amazing character and she got a couple of action scenes but nothing much about her as an actual character. That was annoying, but given the sheer number of characters, I guess I can understand why they did it that way.

- The fat jokes. Ugh! So many fat jokes. I could handle one or two. They wouldn't have been funny, but I could have endured them, but they just... kept... coming. I hated the fact that people in the cinema started laughing the moment Thor was on screen. There was nothing at all about the fact that he was grieving except to make it the butt of a joke. This was offensive to fat people, but the way the whole thing was handled was offensive to anyone who's gone through something difficult and struggled to cope. "Ha ha, you're a hopeless failure if you turn to drink and gain weight when your entire family, most of your friends, and most of your civilization gets wiped out." Absolutely everything about this was badly handled and offensive.

- The sacrifice. It wasn't handled as badly as it could have been. The fact that Clint and Nat were both trying to protect each other worked, but I didn't like that the narrative was set up so that it would be Nat. Given all of the appalling stuff in Age of Ultron about how she "has no place in the world" because she can't have kids, this felt really poor taste. The scene itself was about as good as it could have been if one of Clint or Nat had to make the jump, but setting up the narrative around it having to be one of them was not good.

Fix/headcanon:

- As soon as Sam went over to talk to Steve at the end, Bucky (who clearly knew what Steve's plan was) went to Bruce and said, "Steve mentioned something about a machine that turned Scott into a baby. Do you still have the schematics?" Because there's no sense wasting what is essentially an eternal youth machine. Steve gets zapped back to being fit and young again and he and Bucky go off to raise goats together and live a quiet life.

[tiredarcher]

Greed and Envy Go Hand in Hand

When Envy was first created, they were actually close to Greed, and sometimes things don't need to change

Fmab Au where Greed takes Envy with him

ao3 , fanfiction

An au based on the a headcannon I had were I think Greed and Envy were actually really close before Greed left and Greed leaving is actually what pushed Envy into hating humanity so much. And that Greed actually really cares about what he thinks is his, based on ho he treated the Devil's Nest gang.

Plus I wanted to write something about the dysfunctional homunculus family

The first thing Envy heard was a muffled voice. It sounded deep, but not too deep, and it lacked emotion.

“...it will eventually grow in size when it receives more souls but as for now this is much more manageable.”

There was a sound as the person turned to leave accompanied by the dragging of robes “I trust the three of you will be able to watch it until it adjusts?”

“Of course father.” That sounded more like one person was talking but also multiple all at once and it gave Envy a feeling of dread just hearing it “We will do our best to guide our… new addition until then.”

A word of approval was given but it already sounded as if the person, Father, was already gone down some sort of hallway, causing a slight echo.

There was a pause before a slight shuffle of feet and a scoff “Pop’s really expecting us to watch whatever that thing is?”

“Greed calm down, it not like you had anything planned did you? More roughhousing with your “possessions” maybe?” a smoother more calming voice this time.

“Oh fuck off Lust.”

“Both of you will be quiet.”

Another scoff and more shuffling of feet before something approached them and jabbed a finger into their face “Oi, you awake yet?”

Envy felt their eyes flutter open and they looked up to see a tall man in a turtleneck, leather pants, a row of sharp teeth, and a confused expression staring down at them.

It was silent for a moment before he leaned back and started belting out hysterical laughter “HOLY FUCKING SHIT THIS THING LOOKS LIKE ONE UGLY-ASS DOG.”

A sharp unknown feeling struck through Envy, and as they looked at the other two people in the room- if you could even call them that - it only got worse. The man was still laughing, the woman had a look of annoyance, and whatever the black mass of teeth and eyes was just seemed to ooze disgust.

It felt overwhelming.

So overwhelming that Envy just couldn't help but to...to..

“Shit, is it crying?”

Hot tears dropped down their face as they started to hiccup and gasp. Looking down at themselves they could now see what the man had been laughing so hard at, what the others had been so disgusted with. Eight green, almost scaly disfigured limbs, small moving masses that seemed to want to burst out of their hide, ugly hair that dropped into their face, and a nose that seemed both sharp and squashed at the same time. They were truly horrifying, some type of sick beast that should never had been made.

Almost quiet crying turned to bawling their eyes out.

They were ugly, hideous, an abomination. They couldn't stand the sight of themself, they hated themself so much in that moment all they wanted to do was rip out their hair and all of those moving masses, get rid of everything they were.

So they did just that. Clawing at themselves with the intent to harm but the masses and everything else just started to grow and reform with a red spark. It only made them cry harder.

“Aw fuck, Lust fix the thing!”

“And how am I supposed to do that? Dear Greed, you're the one that seemed to have upset it.”

“Can't you be motherly or something?”

“I'm very tempted to stab your face right now.”

“You’re such a-"

An aggravated growl cut off the two that had been arguing and Envy felt something sharp slice into them. Whatever it was was cold and it sent an unbelievable blinding pain through them before they felt themselves go completely blank and what felt like a moment later, became aware again.

Envy let out a shriek before backing up until their back hit something and they looked up fearfully at the black mass that had just ripped them apart.

“There, see? Problem solved, no more crying, next time it starts just kill it again.” Moving across the room to another tunnel, the mass paused again “I must complete a task for father. Lust, you will help Greed as I believe Greed is incapable of watching over that thing himself.”

With that the mass vanished into the darkness of the tunnel, practically melting into the shadows, maybe it actually did.

The man, Greed?, looked bitterly down the tunnel before looking back at Envy and they couldn't help but flinch.

“So, what are you? Daddy’o didn't say who you were.”

They glanced at him, then to... Lust, to see the annoyance from really replaces with genuine curiosity.

“Huh? What was that?” Greed came to squat down in front of them.

“I’m…” they knew who they were but they still felt uncomfortable looking the way they did, they wanted to change, they wanted to look different, to look as nice and respectable as the other two people in the room. They wanted it so badly that it hurt- not as much as the shame or those blades but it still hurt.

So they forced the change, they wanted to be different, to not look so ugly and disgusting, so they pushed for it and they felt something.

A slight tingle, almost like electricity, as the pushed themselves up and focused on what they wanted, to look like the man in front of them. To not be a complete monster. “I'm Envy and I'm not a dog.”

They spat the last part out through clenched teeth as the last of the red sparks went away. They knew it wasn't perfect, they could still feel their tail and patches of itchy scaly skin, more like a botched version of Greed but it was still better than what they were.

Greed looked dumbfounded by what he saw and Lust had a slight smirk of approval.

Approval felt nice, Envy liked that, but they didn't get to enjoy it as an armoured finger stabbed them in the face, making them briefly struggle to control their current form and not fall apart.

“Not bad kiddo, nice to know my new possession’s got talent.” the armour around Greed’s hand shifted back to skin and he offered it forward for a handshake to Envy “The name's Greed, I want everything: money, power, sex, people, you name it. I got the ultimate shield, and Lusty over there has the ultimate spear.”

Taking his hand hesitantly, Envy shook it “Possession?”

“Yeah, you're our new... sibling I guess, cause the old man made you so by default, your my new possession” that made no sense.

“Don't worry about him, Greed’s an idiot” Lust came up behind him and offered her own hand “the thing that went through the tunnel and also killed you was Pride, I would say to try to stay on his good side, but that may be impossible considering his standards.”

Lust gave them an elegant smile “now that introductions are done, I also have something to take care of for father.”

“Ey, Pride said to help me.”

“Pride has no control over what I do, I let him think he does. Besides I don't think you need help, Envy seems competent enough, might be more effective to have them watch you.” without turning back Lust waved a hand over her shoulder at them before leaving through another tunnel. The place was basically a labyrinth with tunnels going everywhere, you could probably get lost and die someplace and no one would find you for months.

Well maybe weeks if there was a smell.

“So it's great you can go from something ugly to something less ugly but until you figure out how not to botch that shit up, you can't go around looking like me and ruining my good looks.” Greed slung his arm over their shoulder and gave them a reassuring pat “Don't worry, we'll work on that.”

---------

By the end, Envy had a form that was a mix of both Lust and Greed with their own true form peeking its ugly head through.

Short and wavy hair, tall but lanky, a turtleneck and pants with gloves that went all the way up their arms and some sort of half skirt. Their true form was the same patchyness as the first time they changed, occasional clumps of long straight hair, scales on their neck, a tail, that mark on their forehead, and one of their eyes remained but at least it wasn't the one filled with pupils.

They stuck with that form until they finally managed to shapeshift without the imperfections.

Which took almost 3 months of frustration.

And they still struggled to hold onto that form when they bumped into something or someone.

Pride had also killed them 6 other times when they started crying out of frustration and self-hatred so Envy made a point to either be alone or with either Lust or Greed when they did.

Lust was patient, running a hand through their hair when they had one of their fits and telling them to take their time, on occasion she would snap and tell them to stop but it usually took a while. Greed wasn't as patient, he was more… tolerant? Accepting things with a shrug or a strike to the head when Envy offended him.

Which only happened once so far, after Envy had broken one of his possessions when Greed had refused to let Envy at least see it. But that wasn't completely Envy’s fault! It was boring staying below the surface in the tunnels Father had made and Envy didn't really have anything of their own.

Envy wasn't allowed out until they could make themselves look more human and control themselves better. Father had said it was for the best as the wouldn't want to be noticed too early on.

That was the only interaction Envy had had with Father since their creation. Pride had said it was because Father shouldn't have to interact with something like Envy if he didn't have to.

They had laughed when Greed told him to look in a mirror.

That was the other thing about Greed, sure Lust was nice, but Greed was way nicer.

He said it was because he needed to take care of his possession but Envy wasn't 100 percent convinced. Greed would look genuinely upset and concerned when Pride hurt them and afterwards Greed would try to cheer them up. Most of the time he'd let Envy lean on him until they calmed down enough to try again.

And even though Greed said Envy couldn't copy him now that they could shapeshift without messing up completely- only one person could have Greed’s “dashing good looks” and that was him- he still helped Envy modify it to look different, especially since Envy had 2 other people to go off of and looking like Father was out of the question.

They basically ended up looking like a younger version of Greed, Lust said maybe a 13 year old version with more mischievous charm then the dumbass charm Greed currently had. Rounder, softer face and slimmer form, but a sharp-toothed shit-eating grin.

Greed approved of it, saying it would add to the effect of something if he walked around with his sweet baby brother. Which meant he could scam more people into giving him their money and goods by guilt tripping them through Envy.

Currently the two homunculi were sitting with the chimeras, it was Greed’s job to watch them most of the time since he seemed to have developed a soft spot for the beasts, while Envy was trying to figure out their outfit by watching their reflection in the water.

“I'm just saying, you obviously have no idea what you're doing so I should help.” Greed leaned back against one the chimeras that looked vaguely like a bear while he groomed another’s mane.

Envy huffed as the got rid of the half skirt and instead replaced it by giving the turtleneck a sort of coat tail “Says the man who wears leather pants and pointy shoes.”

“Hey hey hey, you've never seen shit so you can't say shit either, now me? I've seen luxury, the finest clothes those guys got to offer.”

“And yet you still look like that.”

They saw Greed reach for something and they moved out of the way before the loose brick could hit them.

Envy stuck their tongue out at him and Greed responded in kind before Envy went back to their clothes… maybe shorting the gloves? Yeah elbow length and fingerless felt nicer. And a headband, instead of having that mark directly on their forehead...

“Well maybe… actually wait, do me again.”

Pausing, Envy looked up from the water before doing as Greed asked and Greed gave a thoughtful humm “You might be onto something, I think I need a vest or some sunglasses, maybe both. I'll find something after we're done.”

That wasn't exactly what they meant when they… after we're done?

“After we've done what?” They were suppose to be doing something? Envy wasn't told anything, Pride hadn't even spoken to them in 4 days.

“Oh I didn't tell you? I decided that since you've done so well with your whole face changing thing I'd take you out for the first time, see how nice I am?”

That… honestly sounded amazing. They had wanted to go outside since Lust had first told them about it. They had wanted it even more when Pride told them no and made them go to Father instead. But the way Greed phrased it sounded like Pride didn't know anything about it and that would undoubtedly piss Pride off…

“Alright,” they had determination burning in their burgundy eyes “What are we doing?”

Greed’s toothy grin covered his whole face.

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

Going out for the first time had certainly been an experience. The sun definitely was bright and warm and the air felt completely different. Less stuffy and more dry.

They stood outside and marvelled at warmth for a minute before Greed pulled them in the direction of a town.

Humans were also an experience but less enjoyable. Envy thought they were interesting at first but the more they watched them the more irritated they felt. Seeing them interact with each other just irked them but whenever they got caught up in it Greed would flick their ear and tell them their sin was showing.

It made them feel disgusting to think that they could feel envious of humans but Greed would distract them from that too.

Apparently Greed’s plan was to rob a bank and then gamble whatever they stole. The first part was definitely easy, Greed just pointed out the manager and Envy watched him until they got the idea of what he looked like and Greed double checked to make sure the disguise was perfect. Then they went in, got the cash, and managed to get it to Greed without being caught.

The next part was a lot harder, Greed tried to teach them in a back alley how to play different card games and they got most of it but not enough to be able to cheat and not get caught.

They settled on Greed doing the work and Envy looking innocent and cute and hopefully distracting people so Greed didn't get caught.

It worked out great and they made almost triple what they started out with but then one of those stupid human children kicked a ball into their arm and Envy stumbled for control and their claws came out.

Which was why the both of them were punished by Pride and put under lock, neither allowed to come above ground for for a month, probably longer for Envy as their loss of control scared a child and could have outed them to the town growing above their heads.

It was also why they were confused when they heard a knock on their door, they were given a room of their own a week before, and Greed pushed it open, shuffling a stack of cards.

“So, now that we don't have any chores, how about that card game I was trying to teach you?”

Maybe they didn't have to be so envious of humans after all.

Hopefully this is okay!!!

Envy uses they/them in this but different characters will refer to them differently 

I don't really know when I'll update, I'm probably going to do it intermittently with my bnha fic. That way when I get frustrated with writing one fic I'll have the other to work on until I figure things out

Here's some really quick sketches I did of Envy's 2 forms !!

I'll probably post all the ones I've done later

[the-faultofdaedalus]

Tony the Dragon Rescues a Princess

because @ilunabarrean wrote such a good I ALSO HAD TO WRITE GOOD DRAGON TONY

... part one, i guess, because this got WAY longer than expected. Whoops. I have no regrets.

The girl has heard stories, shouted over wine and rum by her father and her friends, whispered between the bitter, jealous queen and her maids, stories of a monster, a demon, of fire and hatred and burning things. Stories about the smell of smoke and blood, stories of children stolen from their beds. Stories of great red death killing whatever it wishes.

She grows up afraid, of sharpness and fire and anger, of hoarded gold and envy, of plated armour and red, red eyes.

She does not grow up afraid of the thing in the myths.

The page tells her stories, too. Stories of a protector, of a guardian, of one as old as the oldest oaks and just as kind.

He tells her of a place that the afraid can find a home.

They’re stories of a beast, yes, with claws as big as a full-grown man and twice as sharp as a sword, with fire breath and eyes as big as her window, but he also tells her of kindness. Of claws used with the utmost carefulness, of fire used to warm, of eyes that understand.

She is 13.

She has never been afraid of the dragon.

She is arranged to be wed in a fortnight.

(read more under the cut)

She writes a letter on the finest paper she can find, draws out every letter with care she never showed in her lessons and seals it in wax. She doesn’t have a stamp, so she improvises, presses her grandmother’s pendant into the cooling wax.

She watches the page, the one who told her the stories, ride west from her tower window.

Three days later, three days of staying awake and looking out over the woods for a sign of something, three days of falling asleep at lunch and getting confined to her rooms due to sickness, he comes.

She doesn’t see his shadow across the stars, she doesn’t hear him land on the roof, graceful beyond his size, so careful that not a single tile is forced out of place, she doesn’t notice him coiling around her tower like a serpent.

She does see when he looks in her window with his great golden eye, and all she can think is that the page was lying.

His eye is bigger than her window.

“Hello, little tinderling,” It says, voice deep, deep like the dungeons below the castle, like the cellars that her father spends too much time in, but warm as a hearth, and one massive claw slips through the window, the letter she sent held carefully in its grip. The seal isn’t even broken, pried away from the paper with care she wouldn’t’ve shown. “You called?”

She nods, unable to make a sound, not because of fear, but because of awe, because she can see the smoke curling into her room that smells like the richest cocoa and wood, because the night guards have not noticed the hill-that’s-not-a-hill, because she still thought him a myth, until now.

She feels, more than sees him shift, sees one massive wing furl up through her other window, fold back into place, feels the gale it causes, despite moving so slowly.

He doesn't say anything more, just watches her, waits for something, a signal or a sign, patient as the ground the castle, not her home, never her home, was built on.

Eventually, after one very slow blink, she takes a breath. “I do not wish to be wed.” She says, and the dragon rumbles something that sounds like mountains moving.

“You wish to leave?” He asks, like he knows the answer anyway, and she hesitates.

“What if I don’t?” She asks, because if there is one thing she knows, it is not to believe empty promises. It is that everything, so small as a couple words spoken out a window in the dead of night, has a price.

The dragon rumbles again, something like laughter, but there is something far too understanding in its eyes. She wonders what could make a dragon this big, this ancient, afraid. “Then I will leave. If you need me, I will always come back. Alway.”

“Ok.” She says, nods, and all of a sudden, she doesn’t know what to do. The dragon seems to sense this, and his eye crinkles up, like he’s smiling.

“Take all you want, child. I have carried heavier than this tower.” He tells her, and she believes it. She’s already packed, the things her grandmother left her, her favourite embroidery and a bag full of thread, brightly coloured and expensive, one of the few measures of excess that she had actually enjoyed. Her favourite books, her sturdiest clothes, a pack full of dense bread and dried meat.

A sword, bare-bones and undecorated, with a simple leather handle. She wraps it in cloth, and ties it to her side.

The dragon waits as she fills her bags, looks around her room, her prison, one last time. She will miss it. It’s the last place she saw her grandmother. It’s the place she learned to read, it’s the place she learned to sew. She will always miss it for those memories. She will never regret leaving it for what it became.

The dragon moves away from the window, lowering it’s massive head, and she takes it for the invitation it is, taking a deep breath before stepping out of the window, bundled in rough clothes more fitting for a stable hand than a princess, her belongings on her back, about to fly away on a dragon’s back.

His scales are smooth, barely sharp at all, and the small spikes make handholds as she picks her careful way across his head, between his horns, to between his wings where there is already a saddle made of soft, warm wool resting.

She can feel him holding very, very still. She’s not sure if he just breathes that slowly, or if he’s taking special care not to jostle her. Either way, she’s not afraid.

The saddle is more like a nest, really, nestled in between two spines, and there’s a blanket behind her that she could pull up over her head, if she wants. She doesn’t, just settles in and looks out over the castle from an angle she’s never seen it from before.

Everything looks very, very small, the dragon’s tail nearly reaching all the way around the walls, and she doesn’t doubt that one of his wings could cover the entire courtyard, if he so wished.

As soon as she’s settled, he shifts, uncoiling from the tower that she once lived in, and turning his head to face her again. “Are you ready, little one?” He asks, and she is. She wants to leave, to fly, to run far, far away from all the things her parents expect of her, and she nods, breathless for all that the air is clear and sharp. His mouth moves into something that might be called a grin had it not had so many teeth, and turns back, rustling like a cat about to pounce, making a noise like a million softly shifting coins. She grabs the spine in front of her, and he launches into the air, massive wings beating once, twice, unfurling like the sails of foreign ships leaving for home, catching the wind and soaring.

She laughs, the sound torn from her chest, delighted and sharp and unexpected, and the dragon laughs too, deep and rumbly like a cat’s purr, the wind cold on her face but the dragon warm beneath her, a pocket of safety in the endless sky, wings pumping like forge bellows, stirring up the air beneath.

She wishes she could see the stars, but it is too cloudy to even see the moon. That is the only thing she would change.

The dragon turns, again, and his eyes glitter in the darkness, like the light of a wax candle cast off an old book. Yellow, and old, and full of stories. “Do you want to see a trick?” He asks, and despite years of her father warning her away from street jesters, clutching her close and his coin purse closer, she nods, giddy and breathless and for once, completely unafraid. “Then hold on, little tinder.”

There’s rope around the saddles, and she ties it tight around her waist, knots she had to bribe the royal ship-hands to teach her. As soon as she’s secured, holding onto the spine in front of her with a white-knuckled grip.

And then the dragon’s flying higher, powerful beats of his wings pushing them up and up and up, and she has to close her eyes as they stir up the clouds. They’re not as soft as she thought she would be, damp and thick and freezing, but the dragon is warm beneath her and the blankets are soft, and she can feel water beading on her eyelashes.

And then it all stops, the air against her face and the wet, the cold, and at another rumble from the dragon, she opens her eyes, and gasps.

They’re above the clouds, and the stars are strung out above them like nothing she’s ever seen before. There’s no black in this sky, shades of blue and purple and everything in between, but not much of that, either, for every single space is filled with stars. “Oh, wow.” She says, and reaches up like she can touch them, if she stretches far enough.

The dragon laughs again, wings spread wide but not moving, just hanging in the sky like snow on a windless day, like a leaf caught in an updraft, still and quiet and between sitting on a dragon the size of a hill, above the clouds and under the stars, she feels very, very small.

It’s freeing, feeling so small, like she’s shedding all of the overinflated importance placed on her from birth, like all the responsibilities and expectations and the entire kingdom resting on her shoulders have fell away and given her a chance to breathe.

“It is beautiful, yes?” He says, and she knows he can’t see her, but she nods anyway, unwilling and unable to tear her eyes from the stars. She knows when he turns to look at her, because he rumbles agian, taking in his tiny burden, her hand raised to the sky like she could steal one right out of the sky. “You can not reach them, little jaybird,” he says, but she doesn’t lower her hand, and despite his words, flies even higher. “I have tried.”

At that, she looks at him, wonders just how far away the stars must be if even he cannot reach them. “Oh.” She says, and he rumbles in agreement. It should be cold, this high, but it isn’t. “Thank you-“ she says, and claps her hand over her mouth. “Oh no!”

The dragon stops so fast its almost comical, half-turning in the air and looking at her with wide, concerned eyes. “What is wrong?” He asks, “Did you forget something? Do you wish to return?”

She shakes her head, closes her eyes and takes a breath, like her grandmother taught her to fight away the chilly feeling in her chest. “No, no, I have been terribly rude, I’m sorry.” She says, “I forgot to ask your name!”

The dragon laughs as he rights himself, continues flying towards their destination, wherever that may be. “Then I must also be rude, because I have not asked yours either, little Bluebell. You may call me Tony.” He continues, a smile in his voice.

“Then you can call me Ella.” She says, and she’s smiling just as hard. “Thank you, Sir Tony.” She says, after floundering for a proper title, something less simple, grander than simply “Tony.”

The dragon’s — Tony’s — wings falter in surprise, and he turns to look at her. She wonders if she perhaps made a mistake. “I am not a knight, little Ella.” He tells her, but he doesn't seem angry, or upset, or really anything aside from confused.

She sits up as straight as she can, puts on her best princess face. “Well, you are an awful lot more knight-like than any knight I have ever known.” She says, wrinkling her nose at the memories, men in unwashed full plate, smelling of sweat and blood and drink, starts ticking off her fingers. “You rescue princesses from towers, you are kind, and brave, and honourable, and I daresay you would not need sword or armour to fight, if you had to.” Tony shifts, at that, and if she thought that something as big as a small mountain could be self-conscious, that is what she would think he was, and smiles. “My knight in shining scale.”

Tony huffs. “I did always want to be a knight.” He admits, and she leans forward to hear him better, no matter that his voice could be heard across the kingdoms if he wishes. “I thought the idea most noble, when I was but a yearling, smaller than you, even.”

She can’t imagine him that small, like she can't imagine the castle as a handful of tents against the sea. It seems wrong, for something so large, so stable, so ancient, to have been small, once upon a time, but at the same time, it gives her hope.

Maybe, one day, she can be important too, important because of how she’s grown, not because of who has made her. “I thought the stories far more entertaining that the reality, I must admit.” He continues, “But all the same, It was a nice wish.” He says, and he sounds wistful. Like if he had been human, he would’ve been a knight, one of the good ones. One of the ones they wrote stories about.

And she remembers the sword she has packed away beside her, a solid, reassuring weight at her side. She scrambles to get it out, and it feels silly, suddenly, a rose thorn next to the dragon’s claws, but she is not wielding it to hurt. Not now, not as long as she is able. She scoots forwards, as far as she can reach in the saddle, and rests the flat of the blade on his left shoulder.

“I,” She starts, projecting her voice the way her mother taught her, weary and bitter and wanting to be heard, puts as much kindness into it as her grandmother did, “Princess Isabella Fawkes, first of her name, granddaughter of Queen Mariana Hart.” She moves the sword to the other shoulder and swallows down a lump in her throat. It all suddenly seems far more serious than she had set out to make it, than she had thought it would be, but she is riding away from home on a dragon’s back, granting one of his wishes using her grandmother’s name. “I hereby knight you, Sir Tony.”

The air is still for a moment, not even his wings moving to stir it, and he turns. “Thank you, little princess.” He says, and she can nearly feel his gratefulness. “I hope I will stay deserving of being your knight.”

“I am sure you will.” She says, and he rumbles a laugh, like he doesn't quite believe her but is happy all the same.

He starts flying again, speeding west, and she settles in for a long journey. She is about to fall asleep when the dragon speaks again. “Thank you.” He says, “Sleep well, little lady.” He tells her, and she drifts off above her kingdom, under the starry sky, on the way to her new home.

[mrslittletall]

Title: A nightly talk (Dark Souls Short Story 6) Fandom: Dark Souls Characters: Dragon Slayer Ornstein, Lord’s Blade Ciaran Word count: 1.502 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13722741/chapters/32387517 

This piece is kinda a continuation of this one: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/171460684039/title-the-heritage-fandom-dark-souls-characters But you don’t need to read it to understand this chapter.  Summary: Ciaran finds Ornstein late at night and wonders what he is doing.

Ciaran enjoyed the nighttime. Her job as an assassin often would be done in the dark, so she felt right at home in the night. She enjoyed the stillness and the calm of the night, wandering the cathedral of Anor Londo, only coming along the occassional silver knight on night patrol. Even though most of the lights weren't lit by now, a few of them still burned and provided some more light. Not that she needed that light. She could see in the dark just fine, being so used to work in it. And while most people were amazed by the sight of the cathedral shining golden in the light, Ciaran always thought the dark version looked a lot more stunning. She often wandered around, taking in the sight and the calm of the night before heading to bed. Normally so late nobody expect the patrolling silver knights would be out anymore, so she was surprised when she saw a figure sitting on the stairs leading to the trophy room.

Ciaran carefully approached the figure but once she spotted that bright red ponytail she instantly knew who it was. What was Ornstein doing in the middle of the night here? He was dressed in some linen clothes, coloured green which did go well with his eyes of the same colour and was a nice contrast to his red hair. He also had some paper with him, stabilized by a book and appeared to be drawing on it. Ciaran herself was still wearing her armour set. Seeing that Ornstein had took the time to change into different clothes implied that he actually had been planning to end his day. She did get closer and sat down next to him.

"What are you doing?"

Ornstein startled at her voice, he seemed to have been very engrossed in his work. When he noticed that Ciaran sat beside his side, he stopped and answered: "Drawing?"

Well, if that wasn't obvious. She asked further: "Outside of your room?"

"The light here is better.", Ornstein answered. "I don't need to light a candle out here."

"It's the middle of the night?"

"I couldn't sleep well."

Ciaran sighed: "That still didn't answer why you are sitting out here in the middle of night drawing. Do I have to pull every single word out of you?"

"Well, maybe you should have been more specific.", Ornstein grumbled. "Artorias put a thought into my head earlier and I couldn't stop thinking about it. I thought drawing about it could help." He put his attention back on his drawing.

Ciaran wanted to know what he was drawing and took a look at the paper.

"The path of the dragon? That is an ancient practice. Nobody does this anymore. ... I guess you are partially responsible for this." She gave Ornstein a little nudge: "Right, dragon slayer?"

"Ciaran, now I made a mistake.", Ornstein said, sounding a bit irritated. "Now I have to start anew." He grabbed a fresh piece of paper which gave Ciaran now enough time to look at the drawing in detail.

"I don't think they had wings that large.", she said. "How should they be able to fly? They were said to resemble dragons, not being exactly like dragons."

"Fine, I make the wings smaller.", Ornstein said. "But they had tails and horns, right? Or did I draw the tail too long too?"

"I don't know that much about the path of the dragon. Like I said this is an ancient practice.", Ciaran admitted. "But judging from your picture you let them put their weight on the toes. When they are really walking like that they definitely need a tail for balance reasons. Why are you exploring the path of the dragon anyway? Seems widly ironic for you."

Ornstein spent a moment to put the finished touches on the drawing of the drake like figure, then put the pencil down: "I told you that Artorias put a thought in my head, right? He implied that I could have a dragon heritage."

"And where did Artorias get this idea? You are not looking like a hybrid to me.", Ciaran said.

"My teeth.", Ornstein said and showed the ones that looked like little fangs. "He based it from there and it actually made a lot of sense." He raised his hand again and started a second drawing right next to the first one.

"Wait, you are telling me these things are natural? I always thought you had sharpened them yourself to look more menacing. Which isn't the case by the way."

Ornstein put the pencil down and looked at Ciaran with a frown: "Ciaran, should I be offended by this or take it as a compliment?"

"Whatever you want.", she said with a smirk that couldn't be seen beneath her mask.

"I have the feeling I know exactly which face you are making right now.", Ornstein grumbled and took the pencil up again.

"But just by looking at your teeth he came up with dragon? Cats have teeth like this too and you remind me of a cat anyway. So maybe you just have a cat heritage? This also fits very well with your lion armour."

"Ciaran, by that logic Artorias would be a dog!"

That gave her an idea: "Oooh, could you draw Artorias as a dog?"

"What, wearing his armour set and all?", Ornstein said, scratching his head. But then he provided anyway on a fresh piece of paper. Ciaran glanced at the unfinished second drawing next to the drake. This figure looked a lot more humanoid but still had a tail, horns, claws, a full row of sharp teeth and some scales.

"Oh, I get it.", she concluded. "Artorias is thinking you could have some ancestors that walked the path of the dragon."

"Correct.", Ornstein nodded, not looking up from his drawing. She was under the impression he had actually fun doing this.

"But still...", Ciaran started. "It doesn't exactly have to be a dragon heritage. Who knows what people prayed to earlier? Maybe there was some cat deity around that got lost in history."

"Really? You think there were cat people around? Did they intimidate their foes with cuteness or what? Of course that would work with Artorias." He had finished the drawing and gave it to Ciaran. She was actually impressed. The drawn dog really resembled Artorias, he was shown excitedly panting and wagging his tail. And he even wore Artorias armour set in a dog version. "That's so cute...", she said.

"I guess even Artorias would like it. But I bet he would ask me to draw the other ones as animals too then." Ornstein picked up the drawing with the hybrids again and finished the second figure on it, then started a third.

Ciaran had let herself got distracted. "Wait, we were talking about something completely different!", she called out. "Cat hybrids."

"Yes and I was asking you if they planned to intimidate their foes with cuteness.", Ornstein said. The third figure took shape and now looked almost completely humanoid but still had some horns and large fangs.

"I doesn't have to be a house cat.," she admitted. "I was thinking about something bigger. Like a lion for example. After all, you are wearing armour designed after a lion and it looks very menacing."  

"I can get behind this.", Ornstein took a new piece of paper and started another drawing.

"But why are you so worked up about this anyway? Why don't you just ask your parents about your ancestors?", Ciaran asked.

Ornstein stopped for a brief moment and shook his head: "... not possible."

Ciaran winced: "I am sorry, I didn't want to evoke bad memories..." She wondered if she just had found out why he was the dragon slayer.

"Don't worry about it. I have been over this for a long time now.", he said. He had finished his sketch and showed it to Ciaran: "Do you meant something like this?" The drawing showed a menacing looking lion warrior complete with mane, claws and teeth. "Exactly.", she said.

Ornstein was out of paper now. He put the book and the pencil down and stretched. "I think this really helped. Thanks for keeping me company, Ciaran."

"Oh, that wasn't any trouble. I like to stay up late anyway.", she said. "And let me say just one thing about this topic. It doesn't matter what your heritage is as long as you are happy with who you turned out to be."

Ornstein looked a bit surprised. She didn't even blame him. She normally wasn't the type for this kind of words. Then he smiled at her: "Thanks Ciaran, I'll keep that in mind." He stood up and started to collect his belongings. Ciaran looked at the drawing of dog Artorias she still held in her hands. "Can I keep this...?", she asked.

"Yes, of course.", Ornstein said. "Good night, Ciaran."

"Good night, Ornstein. And thanks..." This time a genuine smile had formed under her mask.

(Author’s note:  Lately I was thinking about exploring Ciaran more so this chapter is written in her POV for once. I like to think that she is a night owl and often makes snarky comments.)

[endlessdreamerdragon]

Misdirection (Scales!Sans vs Chara)

He looked at the odd environment as he teleported in. It almost seemed like his own world but this was a bit different to what he knew and it wasn't just the fact dust flowed through the air. He narrowed his eyes as he walked along the snowy path to find dust everywhere, sending a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with the chill of his surroundings. He couldn't hear a single sound from the still environment and the dust clogged his sense of smell.            He walked into a small town that seemed just as deserted and quiet as everything else so far. It reminded him of his own Snowdin. The more he looked around, the more he was convinced of his suspicions and it didn't take long for the skeleton monster to come to the conclusion that this was not his underground home. He walked along to the edge of town, finding it odd that there still wasn't a soul to be found and so much dust there still. He wasn't liking this. Not at all. He thought about calling out to see if any still were around but thought better of it in case whatever had caused the dust and silence was still lurking around. Then something caught his eye socket, a small piece of red scarf and body armour covered in dust. Almost like..... No, it couldn't be. He walked over, looking down at the thing in the snow with dread in his soul. He pocketed the small piece of torn off fabric and teleported ahead. He had to be sure.. He did it all the time after all (calling them his 'shortcuts') but he doesn't know this area as well as his own and although it is similar in many ways, there are still some small differences.            He went through waterfall, teleporting a little ahead at a time only to see more dust. He really wasn't liking this.. He goes faster, his SOUL pounding and sometimes he runs as well. It seemed even the Temmie village had also been reduced to a scattering of dust all across their room. Hotland. Also filled with nothing but dust. Then he slows at judgement hall, feeling a strange sense of added trepidation and...familiarity? Fresh dust was in the air. He entered the golden hall to find an empty blue hoodie and a pile of dust that was once a monster on the polished orange and yellow tiles and a small human child with fresh dripping blood on the blade in their hand. The jacket was a bit similar to his own but no holes allowed for his wings. Scales stood there staring at it for a while and then sees the child begin to turn around, nothing but LOVE and a whole lot of crazy to be seen in their eyes.            Scales then smiled as he looks at the child, his manner instantly shifting to his usual comedic self giving a cheeky wink and sticking his tongue out as he shrugged, "I would say it was knife to know you kiddo, but I don't exactly know who you are. Mind stopping the skull-king around and tell me?" Scales chuckled at his own pun. He knew they were dangerous but he felt like he wanted to mess with them a bit.            The thing tipped it's head, giggling in a way that brought a chill to his spine although his expression never changed. "Oh, it's just me.. your worst nightmare." With that, the demon charged at Scales intending to rid itself of this new skeleton and his infuriating grin. They'd just dealt with something like this so they had no thoughts that this comedian was any different than the last one they'd fought and just killed just minutes ago.            His smile widened and he teleported a short distance away a split second before they would have slashed him across the chest, "I know I tend to attract people with my amazing personality so I won't charge you for coming at me." Scales looked away briefly and snickered. He was having fun taunting this genocidal little brat.            The child frowns and seems to growl as it charges him again and Scales once again teleported while they ran at him, reappearing just ahead of them and sticking out his leg, tripping them then teleporting away before they could react, "hehe, did you have a nice trip? I didn't know you would fall for me. Maybe you're just now realising the gravity of the situation? Who knows, maybe I will see you next fall instead." Scales covered his mouth and he snickered into them. He was enjoying this game.            The child stood up and almost roared in frustration at not being able to hit the skeleton as well as the added puns further driving it mad as it gazed at him with its eyes blood red, "I will kill you like I did Sans! Guessing you have a brother like the trash bag did! I wonder how it would work if I killed him too?!" Scales' smile faltered briefly and he snapped his fingers as a couple of his Gaster blasters appeared behind him. He didn't act angered but he didn't like others even daring to threaten his brother.            It charged again and he teleported away as he lazily sent the blasters to get them. He made sure not to use too much energy. That wouldn't be fun, "I'm having a ton of fun. Though I'm sure you're looking to have a real blast too, aren't ya? No bones about it. But hey, I'm just a numb-skull after all. I am kinda winging this fight and doing it on the fly." He chuckled to himself. He had to get those few in. Clouds of dust and ash was in the air, making it hard to see. Scales activated his wings and flew above to try and get a better view, realising he'd lost sight of the murderous child. Then suddenly the demon leapt out of the cloud of ash and dust, slashing across his chest and causing him to lightly crash to the floor.  The cloud clears and he sees the cut through his clothing perfectly. He slowly stood up, a hand rising to the diagonal slash across the front of his body, the lights of his eyes were small and shock was written on his features as he saw blood on his hand. And just when it seemed like Scales would suffer the same fate as the Sans of this world, he chuckled softly and looks to the demon that had a wide smirk on its face, believing it had won. "Welp....." He looked up with a wide grin, "that was my best jacket.. It was my favourite! You wanted a bad time kiddo, ya really gonna get it now!"  the child's face shifted to confusion as Scales didn't dust, the thought never occurring that this was not any ordinary Sans but one with 10 DEF instead of 1.            With a snap of his fingers a blaster appeared behind Chara and shoots them leaving little impact on the ground as they were vaporised, making their hp go to zero, "Get dunked on, ya little jerk." He huffed as he examined the damage to his beloved 'Echo jacket' that his father had given to him when he was just a babybones. "Tch.. They have no standards." His blaster came over and he smiled, petting it for a job well done then teleports out, leaving no trace he'd ever been there. He seems to be gone. Seconds later he reappears to retrieve his confused and lost blaster, and seconds later he disappears from that AU ..... Some think he is back home.... Some think he is still wandering AUs, trying to find a way to stitch up his ripped jacket... And...            "SANS! WHAT ARE YOU WRITING!"      "Nothing, bro! Oh darn, I'm writing our conversation."      "BUT YOU SAID YOU WEREN'T WRITING ANYTHING."            ....... to be continued..... (probably not)

Author’s Note: I wrote this 2 years ago so there’s probably gonna be mistakes, or things that don’t make sense. I just wrote this with a friend helping me because it was a fun little ‘what-if’ idea

[purplecowboycycle-blog]

Lima (Part 1)

Alistair was on the night shift when they brought her into the precinct.  The media had called her Supergirl after the comic book character but Alistair had read the old comics from before the Fall and knew that the character was a heroine, a good person.  The real one was more akin to Kali, the Hindu goddess of death and destruction.

Even surrounded by near on twenty heavily armed guardsmen and collared with a power inhibitor, the girl had an expression of nonchalance on her face.  She observed her surroundings with a casual indifference, as if she were simply a bored guest on a tour.  It was only when her eyes met with Alistair’s that she gave a wicked smile.  He quickly broke eye contact, looking back to his computer to avoid looking at that evil gaze.

“Wonder how they did it, huh?”  A voice came from beside him.

Alistair looked up to Geoff Branaghan, a veteran of thirty years.  His greying hair was cut military standard short, accentuated by large muttonchops that made him look like a Civil War veteran transported to the current day.  He wore a light brown shirt and held a mug of coffee in his hand as he leant against the divider between Alistair’s desk and Marian Staplewood’s.

Geoff was looking at Alistair, and he realised with a start that Geoff was expecting a response.

“Did what?”  Alistair asked.

Geoff pointed with the mug to the direction the girl had been escorted.  “Caught Supergirl.  I read that she was seen lifting the CN Tower in Ontario once.”

“Huh.”

Geoff continued, unaware of Alistair’s interruption.  “So, I figure she either got caught unawares, they were really lucky or one of the others helped them.”

“Why would they do that?”  Alistair asked, more wondering aloud than actually asking Geoff.

Geoff shrugged.  “Dunno.  Maybe she got too big for her britches, bit off more than she could chew.  It’s not unheard of amongst these supers.  I heard something like that happened in France, some guy called, uh, Major Steel or something controlled the entire region around Paris.  He had an argument with another one called Obelisk over territory or something.  Next thing you know, Major Steel is in the middle of a big public statement, right?  He’s talking to his subjects like he’s the King of France, which I guess he kinda is.  Anyway, next thing you know, a giant spike comes out of the ground and sticks through him, kills him instantly.”

Geoff settled back, a lazy smile on his face as if he had just provided some ingenious insight to Alistair.

Alistair refrained from responding, only smiling and nodding back to the man.  Of course he had heard about what they called the Paris Incident.  Paris, August 18th 2015.  The super called Fer Majeur had an argument with the super called Obélisque over him encroaching onto her territory in nearby Versailles.  During an address to a crowd of his subjects, a large granite obelisk impales Fer Majeur in the midst of his speech, killing him instantly.  It had been the first public display of super-on-super combat in the world, quickly showing everyone that they weren’t any different to anyone else without powers.

Geoff had continued, his attention still more on his words than whether Alistair was actually listening.  “So, the way I see it, Supergirl might have had an argument with another super.  Maybe that guy in New York.  What’s his name?”

“Devastator,”  Alistair answered absentmindedly.

“That’s it.  Devastator.  Anyway, Supergirl might have had an argument with him, probably over her not putting out or something.  Kinda weird, though, what with the way she dresses.”

Alistair glanced at Geoff, raising his eyebrow at the statement.  Geoff noticed it and raised his hands, putting on an expression of innocence.

“Hey, I’m just saying.  Dress like that, especially when you’re flying around where everyone can see underneath you, well it sends a message, doesn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know.”  Alistair said.

Just like that, his appetite for the conversation vanished and he excused himself to the toilet.  Geoff took it with good natured humour, patting Alistair on the back and saying,  “You’re one of the good ones Alistair.  Don’t forget that.”

When Alistair returned from the toilet, the thought of the girl had slipped from his mind, replaced by the question of what to have to eat when he got home.

——

The next time that he saw her was when he was assigned to the case by Commissioner Phillips.

“Why me?”  Alistair asked, genuinely confused.

The Commissioner was a tough man, raised in the midst of the Uprising in the sixties and seventies, becoming a cop during the Fall and managing to climb through the ranks rather quickly due to his bulldog-like determination and natural charisma.  He had stagnated, though, once reaching his current position.  Alistair suspected, though, that the Commissioner didn’t really mind being stuck at the precinct, however.  He seemed to think of himself as a father figure for his subordinates, though one wouldn’t know it by looking at his gruff and hardened exterior.

“Because.  You’re one of the better officers here, Alistair.  You know the law and stick to it, unlike some.  You have a nose for justice and the truth.  Hell, you’re the best analyst this side of Chicago and you’re well read in the field of supers and their crimes.”

Alistair opened his mouth to protest, but the Commissioner silenced him with a hand.

“Don’t try to deny it.  I can see it in your eyes, even if I didn’t have access to your little forays into the archives.  You’re fascinated by them, aren’t you?  Men and women given god-like power who always seem to turn into the worst versions of themselves.  It’s a riddle to you, isn’t it?”

Alistair hung his head, unable to deny the accusation.

“That’s not a bad thing,”  the Commissioner said, his tone slightly warmer than it had been,  “It’s what we need in the world, really.  More understanding of the other side.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.  Now, your assignment is to interview the prisoner, find out exactly why she decided to do the things she did.  She’ll have the collar on at all times and you’ll have a squad of guardsmen stationed outside incase she tries anything funny.  Just remember Alistair.  Whatever she looks like, she isn’t.  She looks like the type of girl you’d meet at the club, shoot the shit with for a few hours before taking her back to your place and having the best fuck of your life?  She isn’t that.  She’s a weapon of mass destruction, a natural disaster that we managed to subdue by the narrowest of margins.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, sir, how exactly was she captured?”

The Commissioner tapped the ashes from his cigarette into the glass ashtray on his desk as he considered the question.  After taking another drag from the cigarette, he looked Alistair dead in the eye and said,  “That’s a need to know basis.  You understand, of course, that the law binds me as much as it binds all of us.  I legally can’t tell you, even though I would like nothing more than to recount the blow-by-blow account of how exactly we took that bitch down.”

Alistair nodded.  “Of course sir.  I’ll get started on the case right away, then.”

The Commissioner nodded and waved him off.

Alistair made his way out of the office and to the holding cells.  He was buzzed in and made his way to cell A24, where the girl was being held.  The cell in question was surrounded by about a dozen heavily armoured and armed guardsmen, each observing Alistair with indifference as he passed.

Pushing a buzzer next to the cell, Alistair heard the buzz that signalled the command centre had unlocked the door.  He pushed it open and stepped inside the cell.

She looked younger than he had imagined.  Perhaps around his own age.  The orange jumpsuit she wore was baggy and concealed her form.  Her dark hair was cut to shoulder length and her dark eyes studied him as he entered the room.  She was wan, looking like the daughter of Dracula under the bright white light of the cell.

“Am I being detained?”  she asked, the hint of a smile gracing her face.  Her voice held a slight accent, and he imagined that it was from some part of Canada.

“Yes.”  Alistair answered in complete seriousness.  He’d never really understood sarcasm and today was no different.

Taking the seat opposite her, he pulled out some papers from his briefcase and set them in front of him, reading over them briefly to reacquaint himself with the basic facts of the prisoner.

“Miss Eleanor Bouchard.  Twenty seven years of age, born in Montreal, Canada.  Believed to have developed powers in the summer of 2013.  Observed powers include superhuman strength, superhuman durability and flight.  Nicknamed Supergirl by the media.”

“I prefer Eris,”  Eleanor said.

The Greek goddess of strife, Alistair recalled.  Fitting, really.  He coughed, then tried to get back to his train of thought.

“Right.  So, uh.  The first question I have is why do you choose to do what you do?  Cause destruction, terror and mayhem on such a scale?”

Eleanor shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Maybe I was just tired of everyone telling me what to do.  Then I got my powers and could change my life.  And everyone else’s.”

“Okay.  Second question, how did you receive your powers?  Most of the information on the subject is sadly lacking.”

Eleanor tilted her head, an expression of delight on her face.  “You guys really don’t know?  I would have thought someone might have figured it out at some point by now.”

“No, no one has.  It might have something to do with the lack of cooperation by supers with any sort of law enforcement agency worldwide.”

“Wow.  I’m honestly stunned.  Everyone has a camera on their mobile phone and access to the internet and there’s never been any time when the moment one of us got our powers caught on camera?  Wow.”

She shook her head, then said,  “The answer to your little question, doc, is that when one of us is in a situation of extreme panic and fear, we have a little moment where the world suddenly makes sense.  We see the bigger picture.  Then we get our powers.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.  Are you speaking literally or metaphorically?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re being very obstinate and deliberately trying to obfuscate official proceedings.”

“Those are big words, Mister Thesaurus.  You read it for fun?”

Alistair frowned, which made Eleanor only smile wider.  She was enjoying this, he realised.  Deciding to change tack, he started again.

“Do you feel any remorse for the damage you’ve caused and the fatalities that have resulted?”

“Nope.  Not even a little bit.”

“Right.  Have you ever been analysed by a psychiatrist, either before or after gaining powers?”

“Well, I did have one when I was a troubled teenager.  But she was too distracted in our sessions to properly analyse me.”

“How so?”

Eleanor shrugged and adopted and expression of innocence.  “I guess it’s hard to think when you have someone eating you out.”

Alistair looked down at the pages he’d brought, a flush suddenly starting to spread across his cheeks at the implication.  He coughed, trying to forget the image that had flashed into his mind.  He reread several of the notes.

“So, doc,”  Eleanor said, interrupting his thoughts,  "You seem to know everything about me and I don’t know anything about you.  Let’s fix that, shall we?”

“No.  That would be unprofessional.  I’m going to ask one more question now and I’d appreciate it if you were to answer both truthfully and without attempting to cause any confusion.”

Eleanor nodded, a playful smile dancing across her face.  “Sure, doc.  Anything for you."

“How were you caught?”

“You’d better wine and dine me before trying to ask such personal questions, doc.”

Alistair sighed in frustration.  He replaced his papers inside the briefcase and stood.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.”  He said simply, before making his way to the door and pressing the buzzer to be let out.

“And I’ll be right here, waiting.”  Eleanor said.