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animehouse-moe · 1 year

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Mobile Suit Gundam - The Witch From Mercury S2 Episode 10: The Woven Path

So two things to start. I apologize for not getting this post out until today, but it was Father's day on Sunday (I'm not a father) so was spending time with family. Secondly, really cool that Ryusuke Tarou did an end card for GWitch. They're a super cool illustrator that has just what you need when you want to see all your favorite characters happy and free of trauma, living it up in the modern day. Their Twitter is full of fun and wholesome illustrations.

Anyways, the episode at hand. A lot going on, a lot of callbacks and references, and a lot of importance pieces. Unsurprisingly, that means a lot to talk about! Well, waste not want not, I'll get started.

If it wasn't already clear, Quiet Zero is a very large piece of religious symbolism coupled with the concepts of life and death, and it's not exactly subtle. The episode starts off with a Gundnode that is placed squarely within the cross that appears on Quiet Zero, evoking comparisons to crucifixion in regards to the sins that innocent Eri is forced to bear.

From the unsuccessful attack on Quiet Zero that brought the Gundnodes out, we bounce around establishing where all the characters begin at this episode. Finding Miorine holed up in her room, the Earth house puttering about getting prepared to follow Suletta into battle, and Suletta herself talking with Elan.

I thought they did a really good job of handling the interaction between this pair, as Suletta sits on the same bench she waited at her Elan for. The current Elan doesn't sit down though, rather he faces away from Suletta. I think it's a nice touch to keep this pair's relationship distant and on different wavelengths, and in part to show this Elan running away from something yet again. It's a great little piece to his character, that thanks to Suletta's words and Norea's book, allows him to see why someone would rally against the fear. For something greater than themselves, something that they want to protect or save.

Skipping ahead a little bit between the buildup, Guel comes to Suletta to offer her a chance at redemption. Just as she did for himself, though this time in the form of a duel.

I think it's great, and I also think it's a solid callback to Utena. I also hear there's a similar scene in an older Gundam series, but I'm a first time watcher (essentially) so I wouldn't have known otherwise. Anyways, choosing fencing as the form of combat was a really great decision on Guel's part. Half ego, half character, he challenges Suletta to a form of duel that can't be fibbed or faked, one that relies on the moment itself rather than careful planning or preparation. He wants to fight Suletta to prove himself, but to also allow Suletta that opportunity. He doesn't want to hold Miorine over her, nor does he want Suletta's pity. He wants to stand alongside her, to be shown to be equals through the purest comparison possible. I love it, I really do. I love how much our little Bob has grown into a man, but truth be told, thanks to that piece towards the end of the episode, I'm scared for him.

Anyways, here's the super smooth fencing sequence.

So, Suletta wins the duel, and with it the chance to talk to Miorine. I think it's very endearing, and like many have said prior to me, does a great job of allowing Miorine to quite literally open her own door. Before that though, she's crushed under the weight of her own actions, unable to move forward. Suletta doesn't offer her mother's hollow words to justify sacrifice, but rather approaches Miorine as someone who shares a terrible burden as well. I could say a lot more, but I'm going to summarize with this: it's the inverse of Suletta's experience at Plant Quetta. It's Suletta reaching out a caring hand to support Miorine through her fear of violence and death that stains her vision red. Suletta herself admits to her actions at Plant Quetta to establish that comparison for this moment.

Through this conversation, she uses a lot of the words that her mother gave her. That she was protecting someone, that it was the right thing to do. She does very well at realizing her mother's grasp on her in her own way, and in experiencing senseless death first hand, comes to understand how terrible it is. And of course, Suletta is a curse breaking machine through this second cour/season, as she continues to reference her mother's words in opposition to them. What I really love is how she's internalized the original phrase, and subconsciously uses it now, in her own ways, to uniquely support and encourage the characters that need it. It changes bit by bit each time we hear it, but it's still there, and it's still Suletta's version.

Suletta does successfully encourage Miorine, and coaxes both a potential death flag and future date out of her once-again fiancé, and we get a really impactful scene of Miorine moving forward to open the door on her own.

While the act is her own, she still has Suletta waiting on the other side to support her. Suletta still extends a hand out to Miorine, like her own mother did back on Plant Quetta. But rather than excusing or justifying Miorine's actions, she's accepting them alongside Miorine, providing a hand to hold onto while she fights onwards. What I really like with this scene is its subtleties. Suletta's hand reaches out further than Miorine's, but despite that action of reaching out, she places her open hand beneath Miorine's to allow Miorine to reach out for Suletta as well, and when Miorine does reach out, there's hesitation at first. And then there's the ending scene of their hands intertwined, where they both appear in the center of the frame without one side greater than the other. Really small details, but I think really important in regards to how the pair are interacting with and approaching each other. It's incredibly cute, and is only further bolstered by the use of a piano rendition of the opening song that punctuates this entire interaction.

With Miorine out of her room, the plan to begin an assault on Quiet Zero can begin, as Suletta climbs into the monster Calibarn to prep.

There's not a whole lot to comment on as Miorine retakes the reins of the Benerit Group, and even pays a visit to Shaddiq prior to the Calibarn testing. The real impactful piece is Miorine during Suletta's permet score testing. Despite the pain that Suletta's in as she climbs the scores, Miorine is the one that pushes her through to success. I think it's really great how much confidence she has in Suletta through this sequence, and that it all melts away when she reaches the needed score.

And with that success, the Earth house bolstered by the Benerit Group sorties to challenge Quiet Zero. It's also here that my panic attack for Bob begins. He's sortied in his own Dilanza when a Schwarzette appears and fires on him, with his own brother piloting. I'm scared for two reasons: the last time Guel fought family in space his father was killed, and his brother is piloting a Gundam. This means only one of two things, Bob dies, or his brother dies. I can just barely bare Guel losing his brother as well, but losing Bob himself would be heart crushing at this point.

Anyways, onto Suletta and Calibarn rallying against Quiet Zero! I really liked this piece because you can tell that Eri is in fact, holding back against her younger sister.

Also, Calibarn is Caliban from Prospero

Yeah, that's on me, I forgot to add it in the last episode where the name was revealed. I was more so irked by the fact that it was the convenient existence of another Gundam, that I completely spaced out on the fact that Calibarn was foretold by the existence of Aerial and Prospera. So yeah, my bad, but GWitch is still holding itself close to Shakespeare's Prospero, with the ideal of bringing Ericht back to life (which is a power that the play version of Prospera does wield).

Anyways, how is Eri holding back? Well, glad you asked! It's pretty clear to see in this one sequence here. The Gundnode has several arms which wield several beam sabers against Suletta and Calibarn's one. Child's play to understand that Eri could have ended the fight then and there, but instead opted for a more even playing field for Suletta. Really nice touch to show the love that Eri still has for Suletta.

And the icing on the cake, Ericht now appearing above her own casket. The whole idea of a cradle existing within her own casket, where she typically resides is a lot, and speaks to Prospera's grief for her lost daughter, so this sequence takes a different approach. Suletta's only ever seen Eri as Aerial (well, she used to, now they're separate), so the concept of her being "dead" doesn't ring true for her.

It's here that we find our episode's end though. Left on a cliffhanger, waiting to discover the fate of many of our characters, and what will become of Suletta and Ericht. Lots of great stuff, and I'm very curious to see if GWitch will stay true to it's Shakespearean roots.

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evesaintyves · 1 year

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for @remadoramicrofics - it outgrew microfic status, almost 2000 words, but i'm submitting it anyway. combining October prompt guts and October 14th challenge triptych.

three acts of bravery, maybe. read it below or on AO3 🎖

Packing up sets the world back in order. He learned to do it before he learned to tie his own shoes. With his mother clucking get your things, Remus—hurry now and his father directing the flight of reference-books into a box, wand swaying, face of stone, it was clear that sentimentality was only a weight to be dragged. He learned very quickly to snip any string that might tug at him—he is nothing if not a quick learner—and, eventually, to evade those ties altogether: to harbor no love for the peaked attic bedroom with the view of the river, the back garden overrun with primrose and gnomes. Nor the blue-eyed neighbor girl who peeked through the fence-slats.

It is a kind of art, to keep a life small enough to fit inside one suitcase, and it has saved him from more tight corners than any countercurse he might throw in a duel.

When Tonks put her hands to her belly, eyes all sparkling with some unrecognisable joy, and said now, don't freak out, I have to tell you something: it was a strangling feeling, like a dog snapping at the end of its lead. There had always been a way, until now, to walk off and start again. This miscalculation would be the end of that. Now he was chained to his regret, she was chained to him, and the thing inside her was chained to its brutal future.

He didn't freak out. He watched her lips move, her hands grab at him, and calmly, silently, he made the only conscionable decision.

Tonks made a mess of the house before she left; even the velveteen hippogriff she bought for the baby is lying on the floor, eyeless, disemboweled and spilling its batting-scrap guts. She screamed at him, she called him a bastard. And a liar. It doesn't matter, he's been called worse. He's been worse. It was satisfying, in the end, to see her finally understand: she took her hands off him like she'd touched something disgusting, her mouth quivered, she backed away as if in terror: how can you just stand there, she breathed, raspy from all her carrying-on, and look at me like a fucking stranger?

Easy, he might have said. I am a fucking stranger.

But he didn't say anything because he didn't have to. She was crying so hard when she apparated off to her mother's that he thought she might splinch herself—and a week ago, or maybe even this morning, that might have curdled his insides with terror and dread.

But he has unhooked himself from his insides. That's an art, too, and he's well-practiced: it can be every bit as natural, he finds, to feel nothing as it is to feel something. Easier, even, once you've mastered it.

He clicks shut the suitcase, knots the length of twine.

James, he says to himself, I'll find him. I'll give everything I have.

It isn't much. He's got hands that know how to kill and the will to do it. He's got a ruined body, still absurdly walking the earth while so many more deserving have returned to it. He's got the shame of all his generation's failures, the cans they've kicked down the road to their children. And he's got a monster inside: lusting, ravenous, insane, goading him to go after her, bury his face in her powder scent and beg, to confess that I want you, I want to live, I want to have what I want—

What higher calling, for someone like him, than to put all that between Harry and a curse?

Shh-shh-shh, Tonks whispers. She presses a kiss to the warm dry scalp, with its menthol smell of ointment, its tickling hairs. We're going to Nan's house.

Teddy, on a brief intermission from wailing, roots his red little nose and mouth against her shirt. He's always hungry, he's been on her sore tits all day—he was latched when the call came from Kingsley. It is never enough.

She can't just wait. She's not a keeper-of-the-home-fires. She's springloaded, a coil of taut potential straining for release—trained to fight three-on-one, to throw jets of wandless fire from her open hands, to keep her pulse rate seventy-steady all the while. They need her, they can't spare her, what is she doing here?

Waiting for death to come and find her, that's bloody what. They'll step over Remus's body ( he's a good fighter, not the best —these awful thoughts won't stop— he's distracted, scared, has too much to lose. His clicky old knees could betray him. He'll think of the baby, lose his focus, miss by a centimetre and that's the end. It could have already happened ), they'll swarm the castle like driver ants, and then they'll come for Teddy. She'll be in pieces before she lets them get to him, but once she's gone he'll be so helpless, swaddled in his bassinet. She won't have it. She won't sit and let it happen.

She stands there for a moment, in the dark house, with Teddy bundled to her chest. He's winding himself up for another cry, back spasming, a bubble of snot in his nose. It'd all be easier if she could just get him to sleep, but she's not good at that—it's hard not to let it feel like a failure. He's cried so much in this house she can hear it even when he's quiet, the sound has soaked into the walls. This, here, is the life these three have only just begun to make: the kitchen table permanently sticky with jam, the tousled bed: biscuit crumbs on her side, a stack of books on his. The baby's things everywhere, socks and sleepsuits, corduroy dragon, the cot overturned in her rush to get going. Blankets gushing out over the rug.

That's what she's got to go and fight for. This is only the start! They've got years, so many years, so much happiness and lost time to make up! So many knuckle-kisses, murmured sweetnesses under the duvet, Remus jiggling the baby through colic all night, giving her his worn-out smile from the doorway—God, fuck, she's never even told him about the time her dad took her to the zoo and she morphed herself a crest like the iguanas! The Obliviators had to come and zap everyone, Dad turned the colour of beetroot trying not to smile! He'll laugh himself sick!

She's got to go, so she can tell him. That and so many other things. He keeps appearing in her mind: sprawled across flagstone, hole burnt in his robes, face up and staring at the Great Hall's fake sky. Do you know what's up there, behind all the magic? he asked her once, years ago on a mission together, sitting hidden in the boughs of a tree. When she shook her head no, he said, Spiders. It's infested completely, there are a million. And cobwebs thick enough to swing on—don't ask me how I know. He waggled his eyebrows, charming in a way that was unlike him and perfectly fitting all the same. She was so taken by the thought of eight million eyes watching her little self perch on the stool at her sorting that she just grinned at him, gormless. He looked at her face like he was deciphering runes. And it's clear, now, that he was hers at that moment. Since that moment, he has been hers.

She won't let them have him. They've taken too much already: Dad, Mad-Eye, Sirius. The hope of every muggleborn kid who should have, this year, looked for the first time up into that indoor sky and felt the touch of wonder. She can't get it back, but she can make them pay for it. She's got enough revenge boiling down in her gut, it could power a thousand killing curses—she could explode with it, it could set her on fire—

C'mon, baby, she says. Teddy's shivering breath is so warm, so soft, on her chest. We've got to go.

When Nymphadora was a little girl, long before she got her wand, she used to break a stick off the sycamore tree and run about brandishing it, casting made-up hexes, making explosive sounds with her mouth. Halt! she'd shout at the imaginary enemy. Andromeda never knew where she'd gotten that. Ted's little black-and-white telly in his office, maybe. She'd jump off the garden wall, land on her face, pick herself up and announce, I'm okay! Even when she scraped up her elbows, even when she knocked out a tooth. She was always okay.

Andromeda has never asked—and who? Who would even tell her?—but she thinks that must have been how they found her. Faceplanted in the mud, wand out in front of her. Little warrior. When she handed the baby off that night she had that same look on her face: I'm okay, said through a mouth of blood.

Teddy is more of a dirt-digger, beetle-watcher, masher of rose hips into pretend potions. She has to stop him at the door and check his pockets lest he bring home a toad, a wriggling handful of earthworms. That's a bit of Ted coming through, she's pretty sure. This afternoon, she watched Teddy stop his potion-mashing, squint into the mess, and fish out a pill bug with his chubby little fingers. He held it up to show her: roly-poly, he said proudly. He's only just started pronouncing his Ls. He set the bug aside on the grass and recommenced his mashing.

Teddy's a lover, he doesn't like to kill things. That's the privilege of a peacetime child. For lunch he gets spaghetti hoops on toast, his grandfather's guilty favourite, and then a little kip upstairs. Andromeda cleans the mud off his dungarees, and off the carpet where he's tracked it in, and off the doorknob and the bathroom sink and his booster chair.

Nymphadora and Ted used to chuckle to each other at her arsenal of scrubbing charms, the shirts folded in squares. Like that sort of thing was her idea of fun. No. That was the daily fight against entropy. Her daughter, born under the standard of this potted aspidistra, raised in this tidy defiance of the mess outside, never understood. She went charging off with her wand out and left Andromeda to walk the floor all night for months with this little war on her shoulder, the baby that wouldn't stop screaming—and who could blame him? Andromeda understands that desperation, that longing for something impossible. The night they buried his parents, Teddy cried like he was begging God.

Andromeda didn't. She doesn't beg.

I know what you think you're doing, Narcissa told her once, a week before she left with Ted forever. She'd cornered Andromeda in the upstairs hall, gripping her wrist and hissing so that Father in his study wouldn't hear. You think you're doing something brave. You're not, you're just running. Anyone can run.

Andromeda would never concede that she was right. She wasn't—not about Ted, not about leaving home. But still she thinks about it. There's an Order of Merlin upstairs, in the locked room that was Nymphadora's, gleaming in its velvet case. For her courage. Her sacrifice. There's no denying that she earned it. But days like this—when the house is silent and Andromeda is folding dungarees, rinsing tins of spaghetti hoops—she wants to take her long-gone daughter by the shoulders and say: my darling, you have no idea.

images by edward hopper: a room in brooklyn, sun in an empty room (detail), rooms by the sea (detail)

#remadora #remus lupin #tonks #andromeda tonks #teddy lupin #remadora microfics

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sxypigeon · 2 years

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What do you think? - Wenclair

Enid thinks Wednesday might be into her, but needs to talk it out.

___

If someone had to describe me in one word, it would probably be something bland like “personable” or “friendly.” I mean, fine I guess that would be true, but it bothers me. And by someone I mean Ajax.

Not that I’m saying Ajax bothers me - it just kind of seems like he should know me better by this stage of our relationship. Sure, we’d only been dating for like two weeks before classes ended, but even after a month together since coming back from break it still feels like we’re no closer to each other than when we first started dating.

I know I could just bring it up to him and we could talk like mature adults, but with wolfing out and all of the new shit that comes with that, it just seems so insignificant. I want someone who knows me without me having to explain all of it to them. Someone who understands when I’m extra fidgety or irritated it doesn’t mean I don’t want to be near them, it’s just a week before the full moon and my brain is still adjusting to everything.

I’m being selfish, but it’s hard not to be when it feels like someone else understands me better and might be trying to get my attention in a “more than friendly” way.

***

Calculus technically had seven minutes left, but nearly everyone had given up on starting today’s homework, including Enid.

“Do you think Weems is really okay with being undead?” she asked Yoko as she scrolled through her phone.

“Once you get over the trauma of dying, it’s not that bad - although that would assume your roomie got everything right.”

A dry voice in the row ahead of them inquired, “Are you asking for a demonstration? I’m curious to know if the process would work on a vampire.”

“Wednesday, while I would love a chance to peek at your ancestor’s book of black magic, I’m not that interested.”

The seer turned back to her assignment with a shrug. “Your loss.”

Yoko eyed the back of Wednesday's head nervously. “Enid, do I need to be concerned about how quickly she dropped that?”

The werewolf rolled her eyes and huffed an exasperated sigh. “Wednesday has agreed not to try out anything in that book on her - or my - friends.”

“Well thank god you’re friends with nearly everyone.”

“It does make things significantly more difficult,” Wednesday muttered as she turned a page in her textbook.

The bell rang and a flurry of haphazardly shoving possessions into bags preceded a mass exodus.

Nearly half the class followed the same path to fencing, which was quickly becoming one of Enid’s favorites since wolfing out. With her slightly heightened senses, she could almost predict when an attack would come just from her opponent’s breathing and heart rate . . . unless she was dueling Wednesday. No one should be able to control themselves as well as the seer does.

Enid was midway through changing in the locker room when she felt a cool hand carefully touch her bare shoulder.

“Enid, you forgot your calculator.”

The werewolf turned to see her vertically challenged roommate holding said device.

“Oh, thanks Wends.”

As Wednesday left to find her own locker, Enid was left with a strangely warm feeling in her chest. This wasn’t the first time the seer had retrieved something the werewolf had forgotten, but this was one of the first times she’d initiated physical contact.

***

Okay, so that might not seem like a big deal, but this is Wednesday Addams! She doesn’t like being touched or touching other people so, yeah it kind of is a huge deal. She could have just said my name to get my attention, but she went further.

I’m not saying this is proof of some deep, romantic feelings, but it was the start of a trend. Nearly everyday since then, she’s voluntarily touched me, whether to get my attention or to express some emotion she can’t be bothered to voice. A nudge, standing closer than her personal space usually allows - it’s just novel enough to be noticeable.

It took every ounce of my nearly limitless supply of patience not to comment on it. It’s absolutely driving me insane not knowing exactly why Wednesday’s gotten more touchy-feely, but I’m trying to give her the social space she usually needs. I have theories, but . . .yeah.

***

Enid was running late, like “I might actually miss the beginning of class” late. It was her own fault for staying up late to argue with anons on reddit about the politics surrounding pack law, but sometimes you just gotta get shit off your chest.

Wednesday did try to get her moving forty-five minutes ago, but being the idiot Enid is, the werewolf made the mistake of laying back down once her roomie had left for breakfast. So here Enid was, jogging across the quad without breakfast to first period world history.

Technically walking into class as the bell is ringing, isn’t late, right? Either way, she muttered an apology to the professor as she hurried to her seat.

Dropping moodily into her seat, Enid didn’t miss Wednesday’s raised eyebrow. The taller girl mouthed “I know” and began pulling her notes from her bag. When she looked back up to her desk, Enid found a breakfast sandwich in front of her. “Did you?” she mouthed to Wednesday who simply nodded in return.

***

So like with the causal touches, that wasn’t a one off thing either. Whenever I was running late, she’d make sure to have something for me, usually one of my favorites, and she started getting dessert at lunch and dinner just to give to me because she knows I have a huge sweet tooth.

And then there’s the nights one of us has to wake the other from a nightmare-

“Okay, I’m gonna stop you there, Enid,” Bianca spat as she rubbed her temples.

Xavier sighed and let his face fall into his hands. “Why are you telling us this and not Yoko?” came his muffled voice.

Enid huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Because I already have, but like any good journalist, I’m seeking out multiple opinions on the situation.”

“By informing us of your conclusions before we can make our own?” the siren quipped.

“Well, I guess . . . shoot.” Enid copied Xavier and dropped her face into her hands. Maybe asking her fellow “Spring Fling!” planners wasn’t her smartest decision . . .especially since Xavier and Ajax were super tight.

“I’m confused about what you want from us,” Xavier stated as he sat up. “Do you like Wednesday? Are you breaking up with Ajax?”

“I don’t know,” Enid admitted. “I mean, I don’t want to misinterpret her intentions and make her feel like she’s done anything wrong, but I don’t want to ignore it either if she is trying to get my attention.”

“First thing you need to do is break up with Ajax,” Bianca stated.

“Wait, what?” Xavier demanded. “Enid said it herself he’s done nothing wrong.”

“True, but she already has one foot out the door. He deserves to be with someone as invested in the relationship as he is.”

Enid shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Yeah, he does.”

“Second thing you need to do is tell Wednesday you’ve broken up with him.”

“You think she’s just going to admit to liking Enid once she finds out she’s single?”

Bianca glared at Xavier, “Our resident goth isn’t known for being shy.” Her face softened as she turned to Enid, “I’m not saying she’s going to spill her guts to you instantly, but if she is interested, she might up her game a bit.”

“Or you could just tell her you like her,” Xavier muttered with a scowl.

“Wednesday . . . is like a feral cat looking for a home,” Enid said slowly. “She’s spent most of her life surviving alone, but she’s realized there’s a better way to live. If I confront her suddenly, she might get spooked and bolt.”

“So the third thing you need to do . . . Sweetie, you need to flirt with her and make it kind of obvious,” Bianca explained patiently. “Though I have no idea where you’d even begin with that girl.”

“I have a few ideas,” Enid muttered with a faraway look. A moment later, she focused back on the group in front of her. “Thank you so much for listening. I’m so sorry for dumping this on you both out of nowhere. It’s just been going around in circles in my head for ages and - I’ll make it up to you! I volunteer to coordinate the food and drinks while you two get to do the music and decorations.”

Bianca nodded immediately. “Let’s just go with that and end things for tonight. I think we all have plenty to think about.”

“Sure,” Xavier pouted.

“Okay, thanks guys. You’re the best!”

Bianca and Xavier watched the werewolf rush from the room. “So, still nursing that crush I see?”

“No,” Xavier insisted. “I know she doesn’t like me that way. It’s just that it was easier to deal with before I found out she liked someone else.”

Bianca gave him the driest look the siren could manage.

“Okay, fine. Maybe a little.”

“Hurts doesn’t it?”

Xavier sighed tiredly. “At least it’s not Tyler this time.”

#wenclair #wednesday x enid #wednesday addams #enid sinclair

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chidorisjournal · 6 days

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FFXIV Write 2024 - Day 20 - Duel

"I…I challenge you!"

Fenris watched, bemused, as the glove used to smack him in the chest fluttered to the ground, forlorn and rapidly growing bedraggled in the slush and ice.

"No."

"Wh… You can't… You can't say no."

Fenris smiled, that slow, bemused smile that no more reached his eyes than any other smile did these days. "I think you'll find I just did, little popinjay." Carefully pulling the cigarette case from his breast pocket, and a cigarette from it's depths, he struck thumb against foreknuckle, creating enough spark to light the end. A long, slow drag, exhaling the smoke in a swirling cloud of dragon's breath around them. Granted everyone was huffing and puffing in this interminable cold, the legacy of a fallen moon. But his had the distinct scent of clove and spice, now.

"But your honor, ser. You are bound to pick…"

"I'm bound to do nothing, you mewling quim, especially not fight a duel with a child barely out of leading strings who only shaves for form's sake and probably barely knows more about the art of fencing than 'stick them with the pointy end'. My honor is not so fragile a thing that yon dilettante debutante accusing me of accosting her at a party a month ago when I was not even in residence in the city would tarnish it, nor am I over worried about what the waggle tongued matrons of the city might say of me. A rake is the least of the names I've been called in my time. Pick up your glove, and be done with this ham-fisted attempt to duel the lass's ill advised wanderings from the brood into obscurity. Or at least, learn to pick your targets with more care." Another long drag of smoke, exhaling it through his nose, watching the youngster bluster, straighten, and try to determine if pressing the issue would yield any result better than a further tongue lashing. Something in the golden eyes watching him must have dissuaded him, because he did stoop, fetch his glove, and his lady, marching off with the stiff gait of someone with more pride than sense.

Fenris allowed himself a snort, feeling the sting of the smoke in his sinuses as he did, and a shake of his head. He wasn't so far removed from that youth and yet he had to wonder. Had he ever been that naive?

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2024 #rivera #before the wolfie

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cerealmonster15 · 5 months

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🫵

HOW would your twst ocs respond to someone insulting them and trying to bully them + HOW would they respond to someone challenging them to a duel + WHAT would their fighting style be like + WHAT would a guest room trouble line be for them 👁👁

clasps my hands together. i assumed this was about char and dañarte when i first read this, but then i remembered i have a bonus twst oc fidel now so im throwing him into the ring also lksdjfdskl

ok im gonna go in a readmore bc i will probably talk a lot AS I TEND TO DO

Responding to insults/being bullied

well dañarte is a certified Little Bitch, however part of his Thing is that hes pretending to Not be a Little Bitch, so i think it's all based on the circumstance of who is around and all that. if it's in public, he will probably go the route of pretending that he's above a Petty, childish dispute 😌 but inside he IS planning revenge and also trying to blow them up with his mind. and then if he's not trying to mask his bitch boy powers he's def being snarky and passive aggressive and maybe also just straight up rude right back. he will NOT be the bigger person!!! and he does not care what people think about him.

char on the other hand is a certified Good Boy klfjdsjkfl I think he would try to be more civil with whoever's coming at him. like Oh Surely This Is A Misunderstanding Let's Talk This Out kind of deal lol. he's more of a people pleaser I think, so he might be more willing to agree to disagree and move on. i do think he'd take insults to heart tho and probably spend too much time sitting alone and Thinking About It. FESTERING.

Fidel! awoowoo boy. i think at first he might be like, sad puppy dog eyes mode, but if they keep pushing or cut too deep he might get more riled up and ready to throw down about it. and then go sulk after.

Responding to being challenged to a duel / fighting style

hmmm i think both char and dañarte are trained in fencing so if it's something like that, they might accept - oh and i guess also the magic thing. they do magic in this game. magic duels. yeah sure theyll do that too LOL. i'm thinking about those pomefiore PICK UP THE GLOVE npc guys fkdlsjfkdsl i think they would accept whatever the hell's going on there too LOL. char might attempt to reason or de-escalate first, but would ultimately accept if the person insisted, and dañarte might just go right into it lol. because he is a SHOW OFF!!!!! i am unsure how good they are but i think they'd both be at least decently skilled. they probs both have a bit of elegance to their fighting and are likely similar to each other since they grew up together as cousins, and probably learned a lot of their initial magic schooling and fencing and shit together. that and they were both rsa boys before dañarte goes to nrc.

fidel i think could get easily worked up and baited into it but since he's a first year i think he's less refined with his skills and maybe wouldnt do so well, but if it gets physical he's a Big Boy and could accidentally knock over the other person via sheer force of mass lol.

guest room trouble lines

god i still love that twst added a feature where characters just randomly get so pissed they beat the shit out of each other JKLFDJSLFKHSD

so I like that the characters get two lines, and a lot of the time they give the vibe of like one line where they more apologize and maybe admit fault, and another where theyre more defensive, depending on the person lol. so im going to give them each TWO!!!! if i accidentally subconsciously copy one of the lines just. leave me alone jkljfdsklfjds sometimes a bitch is generic!!

dañarte:

Come, now. We'd only just gotten started! I was hoping for more of a challenge.

Ugh, that little... Ahem, my apologies for getting so carried away.

char:

I don't understand what made them so upset... Did I say something wrong?

Sorry, sorry- Here, let me help you clean up!

fidel:

Augh... Can't go back to my dorm with my fur all matted like this...

Huh? A fight? I thought we were just roughousing...

okay YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY ty for indulging me. starts running towards your ask box.

#asks #ocs #twst oc #felix-the-lemon-king #oc: char #oc: dañarte #oc: fidel

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k-s-morgan · 2 years

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Loved the snippet! I always enjoy seeing Sebastian worried about Ciel, even if at this stage its all hypothetical ;)

This makes me wonder if Gremory will be able to see Ciel's potential to become a demon and try to warn Sebastian from following that path! I'm curious to hear your analysis on what you see as the OOC moment in S2. Is this Ciel's terrible idea to just randomly challenge Alois to a duel in the library during the dance of death? I love the scene afterwards where Ciel scoffs at Alois and tries to murder him and gets to face slap Claude, but the fight scene always did rub me the wrong way for some reason and I'm curious if this is the moment you were talking about.

Another ask: Thanks for the snippet it looks so good and I'm so hyped for the update!! I read your last ask response (not the same person!). i admit i don't remember season 2 or the duel at all but going off your description of it: so i've only casually been into black butler over the years, but i absolutely love your meta and gentle slopes has made me love both of them. i was wondering, maybe there's a possibility Ciel realized Alois would cheat, and played accordingly? i agree with your analysis that he's noble, but he's very calculating that way. what do you think?

also, absolutely no pressure here at all, but do you know when you'll update next? of course take your time with it as I'm willing to wait as long as it takes, I'm just really excited.

i wish you, your family and your pets safety. and the end of this terrible war. please hang in there.

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

I combined these asks because they center on the same/similar subjects, hope you don’t mind!

@lecalcifer, I also enjoy Sebastian’s overprotectiveness, and with the line of their work, it always finds a way to show itself :D I do plan an arc with Gremory similar to the one you described. She’s also the one behind Mey-Rin’s dream - she couldn’t send it to Sebastian since Sebastian doesn’t sleep, so she chose someone else for passing this message. We’ll learn more about it soon.

And yes, the fencing match between Ciel and Alois always bothered me. I can understand why Ciel wanted it to happen, but what he does next goes against this plan. We know that his goal was always to take revenge for what happened to him and his family. He expected this enemy to be someone grand, someone he would be unable to defeat on his own, but when he thought that Alois is the guilty party, it changed things. Alois is his age, he’s in a similar situation and he and Ciel are more or less equal. It means that Ciel has a real chance to get his revenge personally, without relying on Sebastian for it. So he waited for Sebastian to engage Claude and remove the chance of demon intervention, and he challenged Alois to a duel.

That’s why him cheating is confusing. Anon from ask 2, your explanation could make a lot of sense, but Ciel actually seems shocked to see that Alois cheated, too, and then he becomes offended and angry. This nullifies his idea of a duel to me because if he wanted to cheat, he could have simply used Sebastian. I don’t see a point in staging a situation where he and Alois are alone to pay him back personally and then just trying to trick him. Fencing was considered a noble kind of sport; duels had an element of integrity and nobility, too, so for Ciel to just spit on all of this for no reason? It’s very strange to me. So I’m introducing a made-up situation that will justify some of it when we get there.

Thank you both for your interest and your wonderful words <3 I really, really hope to update at the start of November. Can’t promise anything since my days are unpredictable now because of Ruzzia, but for now, I’m making progress.

#my fics #sebaciel #black butler #ciel phantomhive #season 2

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bleachanimefan1 · 4 months

Text

Desert Flower Part 33

Allies of the Leaf,

Yuri went to the hospital to visit Lee. When she arrived at his room, she saw Gai sensei was there along with Tsunade as well. Lee quietly left the room before Yuri could say anything to him.

"Lee, where are you going?" She turned back to Gai and Tsunade. "What happened?"

"I gave Lee a diagnostic on his condition." Tsunade started out.

"Lady Tsunade will be able to heal him but there's-" Gai spoke before he stopped and gritted his teeth.

"Can someone tell me what's going on?" Yuri asked and looked at Tsunade. "If you can heal him then do it!"

"If I do the procedure, Lee might not make it. It's a 50-50 chance that it will be successful. His injuries are too severe. He will die if it fails. I advised him to give up being a ninja." Tsunade explained. Yuri's eyes widened.

"Poor Lee." She murmured.

A few days later, Lee had decided to take the operation. Yuri, Ten Ten, and Neji were outside the operating room, anxiously waiting for the news. Gai couldn't make it because he was on a mission. Yuri stared at the red light as it remained on.

"He will pull through. I know he will. He's a tough guy." Yuri reassured them.

"Yes, he is." Ten Ten nodded, still silently praying to herself. The light suddenly turned off and everyone immediately looked up, seeing Tsunade come out of the operating room.

"How's Lee!? Is he-" Ten Ten asked, concerned. Tsunade lips turned upward as she smiled.

"The operation was a success. Lee will pull through. Although, I do recommend a few weeks of bed rest before any physical activities." She told everyone. Yuri and Ten Ten both sighed in relief. Gai sensei started to cry. Neji smiled.

"Yes!" Yuri cried out happily.

A few weeks had gone by, Tsunade gave Squad 7 an assignment to the land of Tea. Her old gambling friend was in trouble with another gang rival. They ran into a man named Idate Marino, who was also Ibiki's little brother. They helped him win the race, settling the feud between the two gangs. However, Sasuke got injured during the rival gang's ninja bodyguard. Naruto managed to take him out using his rasengan knocking him out in a single hit. As they headed back to the Leaf, Yuri noticed a strange look in Sasuke's eyes the way he looked at Naruto.

At the hospital, Sasuke challenged Naruto to a duel. On the rooftop, Yuri and Sakura watched, uneasily as the two began. Naruto and Sasuke landed blow after blow on each other, getting even more intense.

"Naruto! Sasuke! Stop! This is getting too much! Are you trying to kill each other!?" Yuri shouted, pleading for them to stop. But Naruto and Sasuke, both ignored her and Sakura who were telling them to stop as well.

Naruto and Sasuke both unleashed their special techniques, the Ransengan and Chidori. They lunged at each other as they jumped into the air. Sakura charged at the two, trying to stop them.

"Stop!" Sakura cried out.

"Sakura! No! It's too dangerous!" Yuri quickly chased after her, trying to grab Sakura before she got caught in the middle. Suddenly, Kakashi appeared and quickly grabbed Sasuke and Naruto's wrists diverting them away from each other. Naruto and Sasuke both crashed into two water towers. Naruto made a small dent while Sasuke pulled his arm out. Water spilled out from the tower, falling onto the roof.

"Just what were you two planning to do just now!?" Kakashi demanded. "That was a little too much for a friendly sparring match."

Naruto said nothing, looking at Sasuke, angrily.

"Sasuke, what do you have to say?" Kakashi questioned. Sasuke scoffed and turned away and hopped over the fence and landed on the ledge. His eyes widen in shock looking at the water tower that Naruto had crashed into with his rasengan. The back of the tower was blown apart with a large gaping hole. He gritted his teeth, furiously, and slammed his fist against the wall.

The next morning, Yuri was woken up with loud banging at her front door. She opened it and felt arms immediately wrap around her as Sakura hugged her, crying.

"Yuri! It's Sasuke! He's-He's gone! He left the village!"

"Whoa, slow down, Sakura! Sasuke did what now?!" Yuri sputtered, still half asleep.

"Sasuke left the village!" Sakura cried. "I tried to stop him, but he knocked me out. I know we don't always get along, but I need your help! Please, get him back!" Yuri frowned. He must be going after Orochimaru.

"Let's go get Tsunade and tell her what happened." Yuri told her. Yuri and Sakura quickly headed towards the Hokage's office and told Tsunade what had happened. She dispatched a team to retrieve Sasuke. Shikamaru, Choji, Kiba, Neji, Yuri, and Naruto, putting Shikamaru in charge of leading the team. At the gate, Sakura begged Naruto to get Sasuke back.

Naruto grinned giving her a thumbs up. "Of course I will. That is a promise!"

The team quickly left, heading in the direction that Sasuke was last seen. Yuri hopped beside Naruto as they jumped from branch to branch through the trees.

"Naruto, what if Sasuke doesn't want to come back?" She asked him.

"Then I'll drag him back if I have to." Naruto spoke.

"But he left on his own accord-" Yuri started before Naruto cut her off.

"Just what are you trying to say?" Naruto questioned.

"He betrayed us." Yuri replied.

"You don't know that for sure." Naruto tried to dismiss. Yuri sighed, knowing that it was hopeless to argue with him.

Along the way the team ran into several Sound Ninjas. Choji, Kiba, Neji, and Shikamaru decided to hold them off while Naruto and Yuri followed after Sasuke. The two stopped at a clearing in a field and saw a pale man with short white hair with two red hair ornaments tied at the end, two scarlet dots on his forehead, wearing a light lavender long sleeved zipped up shirt, his left sleeve hanging loosely on the side, a purple rope like belt tied around his waist, black pants down to his mid calf, bandages around his legs and sandals. On his chest was a curse seal that was a little different from Sasuke's. Sasuke was standing next to him. He took off heading deeper into the forest.

"Sasuke!" Naruto called out to him.

"Naruto, go on ahead. I'll try to handle this guy." Yuri told him. Naruto stared at her, unsure.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! Now go!" Yuri quickly told him. Naruto nodded and darted after Sasuke, leaving Yuri alone with the man.

"I assume you work for Orochimaru." Yuri told him.

"My name is Kimmimaru. Lord Orochimaru has chosen Sasuke to be his new vessel. I will fulfill his wishes until the end." He told her.

"Yeah, yeah, Orochimaru this, Orochimaru that. I don't really care. But it's sad that your brainwashed by him." Yuri spoke. In an instant, Kimmimaru was right in front of Yuri. She quickly threw a kick. To her surprise, Yuri saw bones sprouting from the mans chest, blocking her kick. Kimmimaru quickly sprouted a long bone like blade and lashed out at Yuri. Yuri moved back and the blade managed to slice her cheek. Kimmimaru delivered a hard kick, knocking her back. Yuri fell landing on her back. Before she had time to get back up again, Kimmimaru was already charging at her about to land a killing blow. Then Kimmimaru was kicked in the face and was knocked a few feet away.

Yuri's eyes widen in shock when she saw Lee standing in front of her, facing against Kimmimaru.

"What are you doing here, Lee!? You're supposed to be at the hospital!" Yuri shouted.

"I heard about what happened to Sasuke. I came to help. I always keep my promise. Please, let me fight alongside with you." Lee spoke. Yuri's eyes widen a little more and she stood up.

"Okay, but this guy is not normal. Watch yourself." She warned him. Lee grinned and nodded. The two quickly charged at Kimmimaru, trying to land kicks and punches on him. Kimmimaru deflected off each of their blows with his bones. Yuri made a hand sign.

"Fire Style: Fireball jutsu!" She quickly blew a fireball, aiming directly at Kimmimaru. The fireball completely engulfed the ninja. She and Lee jumped back to gain a little distance, silently watching. The smoke cleared and Kimmimaru stepped out, completely unharmed without a scratch on him.

"Damn it! What's this guy made out of!?" Yuri exclaimed. Kimmimaru was about to charge at them again when Lee stopped him.

"Hold it! I need to take my medicine." He told the ninja, holding his hand out. Kimmimaru blinked and so did Yuri as they watched Lee reached into his pack and pulled out a white bottle.

"Is this really the time for this right now?" Yuri asked him. Lee drank the whole bottle, dropping it on the ground. Then Lee suddenly began to act strange and started to stumble around barely able to stand on his feet. Yuri frowned and looked down at the bottle seeing the kanji symbol written on it for sake. Her eyes widen. He's drunk! Lee must have grabbed the wrong one, confusing it with his medicine.

Lee charged at Kimmimaru stumbling around a little throwing some kicks. Kimmimaru tried to slice at Lee with his bone blade, but Lee dodged his attacks, effortlessly. Yuri tried to land a few kicks as well, managing to kick Kimmimaru in the face. Kimmimaru stumbled back a little and regained his balance, wiping his lip. Then Lee suddenly fell to the ground with a thud.

"Lee! Wake up!" Yuri shouted at him and was about to help him up when Kimmimaru kicked her in the chest, knocking her away from Lee. Kimmimaru drove his blade down on top of Lee's head to land a blow. Still asleep, Lee quickly rolled out of the way as Kimmimaru repeatedly tried to stab him. Then Lee caught Kimmimaru's blade with his feet, tossing to the side and kicked Kimmimaru, knocking him back. Lee woke up and hopped back to his feet, stumbling, again. Lee blinked looking around confused.

"Where am I? And who's that?" He murmured, looking at Kimmimaru.

"That's Kimmimaru, remember? The one we're fighting right now!" Yuri shouted. Lee turned to her and grinned.

"Oh, hey, Yuri! When did you get here?" He slurred, happily. Yuri sighed.

"You've got to be kidding me. Lee, focus!" She shouted and charged at Kimmimaru to attack him again. Lee ran at Kimmimaru as well. Eventually, the sake began to wear off and Lee started to regain his balance a little better. Yuri stared at him a little concerned.

"This is either really good or really bad. Lee was doing better when he was drunk. Do we still have a chance to beat this guy!?" Yuri thought to herself, worried.

"Yuri watch out!" Lee shouted, snapping Yuri out of her thoughts. Her eyes widen when she saw Kimmimaru kick Lee away and was now charging at her. Yuri raised her arms to brace herself for his attack. Just as he was about an inch from her, sand suddenly appeared, blocking Kimmimaru's attack and pushed Yuri backwards. Yuri groaned as she sat up and her eyes widen in shock, seeing Gaara standing in front of her and Lee. He narrowed his eyes as he stared at Kimmimaru.

"Who are you?" Kimmimaru demanded, glaring at Gaara.

"Allies of the Leaf Village. We're shinobi of the Sand."

#fanfiction #read more #Gaara #gaara x oc #sabaku no gaara #gaara of the desert #gaara of the sand #rock lee #naruto oc #naruto anime #naruto fanfiction #naruto manga

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kjack89 · 3 years

Text

An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 4/?)

Continuation of the E/R Bridgerton AU, regency-era fake-marriage shenanigan-fest. This time, with duel-shenanigans as well! (Chapter 1 tumblr | AO3, chapter 2 tumblr | AO3, chapter 3 tumblr | AO3)

Dearest Readers,

This Author recommends that young women prone to swoon do not read this most peculiar of updates without someone there to catch them, as the most shocking of scandals has broken, and not, as one might expect, from the city but rather from the country.

If you have guessed that it involves our two unlikely friends out for a country jaunt, you would be correct, but we doubt even the most voracious of readers would guess the nature of the scandal. It turns out Mr. Grantaire is not an only child, as many have supposed, but instead has a sister of the marrying age. Why she was not presented to society is anyone’s guess, but we expect she’ll be along soon enough, given what has occurred.

Details are still forthcoming, but suffice it to say, the Marquess of Enjolras, perhaps least likely amongst his cohort to find himself in this situation, appears to have been found in a compromising position with Mr. Grantaire’s sister. A quick, quiet wedding is the fastest way to deal with a scandal of this nature, but the salacious nature of this situation doesn’t end here:

The Marquess has allegedly refused to marry Mr. Grantaire’s sister, so Mr. Grantaire publicly challenged the Marquess to a duel for his sister’s honor, and the Marquess accepted.

Tales of Mr. Grantaire’s prowess in physical contests are well-known, so this Author hopes for the Marquess’s sake that his aim with a gun is less impressive. Fear not, dear Reader. This Author suspects that both the Marquess of Enjolras and Mr. Grantaire will emerge from the duel with all limbs intact, but we also suspect that Grantaire will emerge with a soon-to-be brother-in-law – and the Marquess with a fiancée. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 4 May 1831

It was, charitably speaking, ungodly early when Enjolras was roused from his bed by the ever dour-faced Le Cabuc. There was not even a hint of sunlight when he glanced out the window before getting dressed, and when he and Grantaire set off a half hour later, there was still just the beginning rays of sunlight creeping over the horizon.

Usually, Enjolras did not mind waking at an early hour, though he was more inclined to work late into the night and have a bit of a lie-in the next morning whenever possible, but he had slept poorly the previous night. Undoubtedly, he thought sourly as he followed Grantaire away from the house, because of what they were setting out to do.

Not that he had much real cause for concern – after all, if Grantaire was going to shoot him, surely he would have done it long ago.

That said, he would also have felt slightly more comfortable if he was carrying one of the guns, rather than Grantaire carrying both as he currently was.

But he suspected his tossing and turning was more related to the grand scheme they were attempting to pull off, and his very real concern that they were not going to be able to. Thus far, certainly, all pieces of the plan had fallen in place, but that as much as anything was setting him on edge. After all, it would take but one thing going awry from the whole arrangement to unravel, and Enjolras was not thoroughly convinced that—

Grantaire heaved a sigh and glanced over his shoulder at Enjolras. “Could you please be quiet?” he asked, sounding as tired as Enjolras felt.

Enjolras scowled at him. “I haven’t said anything!” he protested.

“No, but I can hear your mind going a mile a minute,” Grantaire groused, waving a dismissive hand. “It is positively spoiling what should otherwise be a magnificent morning.”

It was a lovely morning, Enjolras supposed, especially as the sun inched further up in the sky. “There is only so much I can do about the relative volume of my mind,” he told Grantaire, half-smiling as he did.

Grantaire pursed his lips slightly before shaking his head. “No, I suppose not,” he said, pausing in his stride to allow Enjolras to fall into step besides him. “Which means that I shall have to distract you instead.”

“And how do you intend on doing that?” Enjolras asked, more amused than curious.

“Well, I could regale you with what little I know about the vegetation in this area,” Grantaire offered, and when Enjolras wrinkled his nose, he laughed. “Very well. Then what conversation topic would you prefer?”

Enjolras considered it for a second. “I suppose you could start by telling me where, exactly, you’re taking me.”

“So banal,” Grantaire said, half under his breath, and he laughed and dodged when Enjolras tried to elbow him in the ribs. “Fine, fine. There’s a field not far outside of town that’s up on a small bluff. Isolated so that no one will see, but the elevation and lack of foliage between the field and town will allow the sound to carry, which is what I am banking on.”

“Not a lot of shooting out this way?” Enjolras asked, mostly jokingly, though Grantaire seemed to consider it for a moment before shaking his head.

“No. A fox hunt every now and then or something or the sort, but usually advertised well in advance and taking place further afield.”

The terrain sloped upward at that point, and both Enjolras and Grantaire fell silent as they trekked along. Finally, the slope evened out, and as Grantaire had promised, they were standing on the edge of a fairly flat field overlooking the town below. “Well,” Grantaire said, rather unnecessarily. “Here we are.”

He handed one of the pistols to Enjolras, who took it, feeling unusually out of sorts, even though this was hardly his first time wielding a weapon. “Ten paces?” he asked, mostly for lack of anything better to say.

“I suppose so,” Grantaire said, before winking at him. “Of course, in keeping with our attempt at verisimilitude, I could shoot you, if you wish. Just a flesh wound, in the shoulder maybe – just a little something to demonstrate how coerced you were into this whole affair.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “While I am certain that you would have no compunction shooting anyone, I really don’t think that’s necessary.”

Instead, he squared his shoulders and dutifully marched ten paces away before turning to face Grantaire again. “Here?” he asked, but Grantaire was frowning, his gun held loosely at his side.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked.

Enjolras blinked. “I mean, is this the correct distance?”

“No, by my not having any compunction about shooting anyone.”

There was something unfamiliar in Grantaire’s tone and Enjolras frowned, trying to figure out what exactly he had said to put Grantaire out. “I meant no offense,” he offered.

Grantaire shook his head. “I do not necessarily take offense,” he said. “But I would still wish to know what precisely you meant.”

Enjolras considered him for a moment. “I know that you are an accomplished boxer,” he said after a moment. “And I have it on good authority that you know also how to wield a blade, so it can only stand to reason that you know how to use a gun. That s all that I meant.”

“Know how, yes,” Grantaire said, “but I’ve never shot anyone, and I’m not certain that I could bring myself to, were it to come to that.”

Now it was Enjolras’s turn to frown and ask, “What do you mean?”

Grantaire shrugged, glancing down at the gun in his hand. “I mean, with boxing, with fencing, hell, even with street brawling as Bahorel and I are wont to do—”

“Wont is certainly one word for it,” Enjolras said sourly, too aware of how many times those two had gotten themselves into scraps.

“—with all of those,” Grantaire continued, ignoring him, “the goal is surrender. You wound or injure to get the offending party to back down. But with a gun?” Again he looked down at the gun in his hand, hefting it as if testing its weight. “With a gun, the outcome is too often death, no matter the intent. And I am not certain that I could bring myself to shoot a man, knowing the likely outcome is his death.”

It had not been at all the answer Enjolras was expecting. “Oh,” he said, a little stupidly. “I suppose I did not think of it that way.”

“What of you?” Grantaire asked, with a wry half-smile, as if aware of the absurdity of this conversation when the two men were facing each other with pistols in hands so as to duel. “Have you ever shot a man?”

Enjolras shook his head. “No,” he said, “but I don’t think I would have the same hesitation you would. Death is a tool, and there are times when, in order to bring about the best future possible, killing someone is the only option.” Grantaire shifted as if he was about to interrupt, but Enjolras did not let him. “But the law of progress is that this will no longer be the case some day, and that is the moment for which I would fight, and kill if necessary, so that none after me would face that choice.”

Grantaire was silent for a few moments after, and he was too far away for Enjolras to be able to read every line in his face like he normally would be able to. “I understand,” Grantaire pronounced finally, the two words spoken almost like a vow.

Enjolras felt strangely tongue-tied at that, and looked away. “Shall we?” he asked, his voice strangely thick, and Grantaire nodded.

Both men faced each other once more, lifting their pistols to aim in the rough direction of the other, ready to get this over with. Later, Enjolras would never know what possessed him in that moment, but as he stared down the barrel of the gun at Grantaire, he could not help but blurt, “I could have sworn that you were going to kill that soldier.”

Grantaire lowered his pistol, his brow furrowing. “What soldier?”

Enjolras lowered his weapon as well. “Do you remember the demonstration we hosted outside of parliament last spring?”

“I am fairly certain the authorities deemed that less a demonstration and more a riot,” Grantaire said, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“Even so,” Enjolras said, refusing to allow himself to get distracted. “Soldiers were called in to ‘enforce the peace’, though I am certain they were more violent than any of us—”

“They certainly were,” Grantaire murmured.

“—and there was this one soldier in particular who seemed quite determined to…”

Enjolras trailed off, and Grantaire cleared his throat. “To beat you to death in the street?” he supplied, a false, sharp cheerfulness to his words.

Shaking his head slightly, more at the memory than in disagreement to Grantaire’s words, Enjolras swallowed before continuing, “That’s one way of putting it.” He met Grantaire’s eyes. “But you stopped him.”

“Yes.”

“Quite violently, as memory serves.”

Grantaire’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “Yes.”

“But you did not wish to kill him?”

“Oh, I wanted very much to kill him,” Grantaire said, an ugly look crossing his face. “But I did not.”

Enjolras had the sense that continuing too far down that path was not going to end well, so he changed tacks slightly. “So then you too agree that death is a sometimes necessary tool.”

Grantaire jerked a shrug. “I suppose, yes,” he allowed. “If the circumstances were right.”

“And the circumstances were not right that day?” Enjolras asked, because he couldn’t resist prying, just a little.

Grantaire shook his head. “No.”

He did not seem inclined to elaborate any further, and Enjolras frowned. “Because you feared that you could have been arrested?” he asked, though he doubted that was the case, as Grantaire had been arrested as many times as any of their number.

Indeed, Grantaire snorted derisively. “As if the threat of incarceration has ever once stopped me,” he scoffed, before arching an eyebrow at Enjolras. “Or you, for that matter.”

“It helps knowing that you or I would only be incarcerated until the police realized who we were and released us,” Enjolras said dryly. “The perks of nobility – or gentility, I suppose, in your case.”

“Gentility,” Grantaire repeated, smirking again. “I dare you to use that the next time you’re arrested, just to see what the officer placing you in irons has to say in response.”

Enjolras just rolled his eyes and ignored him, steering the conversation back on track. “What did stop you, then?” he asked, and when Grantaire looked confused, he elaborated, “From killing the soldier, if not the possibility of incarceration.”

Grantaire’s expression was unreadable as he locked eyes with Enjolras. “You were no longer in danger,” he said simply.

The stark words left Enjolras feeling as if his chest was suddenly a size too small, and it took him a moment to compose himself. To know Grantaire had reacted that way when the man was not convinced he could take a life, and all because Enjolras had been in danger...it was too much. Finally, he met Grantaire’s eyes once again, and hoped the two words he could muster conveyed everything that he wished they did. “Thank you.”

Grantaire seemed suddenly flushed, and he cleared his throat and looked away. “In any case,” he said loudly, “can we kindly get back to the business of shooting each other?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Shooting at each other,” he corrected.

Grantaire smirked at him, all traces of the previous conversation disappearing. “Is that not what I said?” he asked innocently.

Again Enjolras rolled his eyes before once again raising his gun and aiming it in Grantaire’s general direction. Grantaire followed suit, a half a beat later. “Are you ready?” Enjolras asked.

“As ready as I will ever be,” Grantaire said. “On your count?”

Enjolras jerked a nod. “On my count,” he affirmed, taking a deep breath before counting, “One...two...shoot.”

Both guns went off with a flash of powder and smoke, the gunshots echoing loudly in the still morning air, loud enough to make Enjolras wince – though that may also have been from the recoil, which left Enjolras’s arm feeling weak. “Do you yield?” Grantaire called, and it took that question for Enjolras to remember the absurd reason for which they were there in the first place.

“Yes, I yield,” Enjolras told him, the first and only times those words had ever come out of his mouth.

Grantaire smirked at him. “And do you agree to marry my sister?”

Enjolras gave him a look. “There is no one here to hear my answer, you realize.” Grantaire returned his look with one of his own, and Enjolras sighed. “Yes, I will marry your sister.”

“Then I have my satisfaction,” Grantaire said, sounding just a little smug.

But as Enjolras handed his pistol back to Grantaire, as lingering pieces from their conversation played over in his mind, he could not help but feel that they had both gotten satisfaction that day.

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #les miserables #fanfiction #chaptered #part 4 #bridgerton au #regency era #canon era #no those two eras don't overlap but don't @ me #fake marriage #duels #guns cw

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riverdale-retread · 3 years

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Riverdale S4 E12 (Spoilers)

-Jughead and Bret apparently have to report to Dupont that they’re going to engage in a fight - excuse me, Jones challenged Wallis to a duel for their honor. Dupont says, with evident approval, that Jughead has ‘invoked the arcane tradition.’ This school is in upstate NY and therefore it can’t have been founded in 1440 like Eton - none of its traditions are arcane. These people are so Jughead’s true community. But of course it’s Jughead’s fate to always be the resented, barely tolerated outsider in every single group to which he tries to belong.

The Jughead/ Bret Duels

-About honor

Jughead says “honor” is a word that gets thrown around a lot at Stonewall Prep, but the Serpents also have a fetish for that word (Jughead taunts Reggie about not having honor after becoming Serpent prince, and FP asks Jughead to bring honor to their name). But, Jughead, babe? That word - I do not think it means what you think it means.

What exactly is Jughead fighting for here? Betty’s reputation has been harmed, but it wasn’t actually harmed by Bret. Betty’s reputation has been sullied, intentionally, by Alice, who hates women in general and her daughters in particular, and wants to make sure that Betty doesn’t get to go to college. That’s why Alice got the quiz show questions from someplace and gives it to Betty with no instructions on what to do with that sheet of paper afterwards to her straight-arrow daughter.

Bret being a classist know it all in love with Betty’s boyfriend was enraged that he lost out to Betty in a question about cars of all things, so he spitefully went through her trash. Sure. That’s creepy and weird, but the reputation damage came from Alice.

I feel like going through contestants’ trash after a knowledge based competition to see how they prepped, if they were unfairly coached in fact isn’t dishonorable - it’s a bit like post-competition drug testing for athletes, in a way.

So what Jughead is doing is a combination of very Jughead impulses: 1) setting himself on fire because Betty wants him to be the weaker member of their partnership and 2) trying to fight his way into a club by playing by their rules.

- The Matches

- Jughead’s intense irritation about ‘saber’ being one of the ways of fighting is very funny, because if he’d gone to Stonewall from the start, I think fencing would totally be Jughead’s sport. You know he’d go on about what a noble sport it is. And the girls suggest a chess match as a tie breaker. Jughead chooses Donna to be his second, and I believe this comes from his recognition that she’s the talented writer of his seminar. Jughead is a meritocrat, and he expects talented people to be honest and true. He has no basis to think this except he’s an optimist.

- It rings true to me that an exclusive, exclusionary fancy school would not care about fairness in anything. Not even superficial fairness. They know Jughead has never done any sort of fencing. Of course Jughead loses, and I wish we’d seen the Jughead and Donna training montage. Both Bret and Jughead have cute butts, so that’s a plus.

- The punching match which is supposed to go into 7 rounds. I adore, with all I’ve got, the way Jughead refuses to get into a ‘proper’ fighting stance. Jughead knows how to make a macho entrance, so if he wanted to he could do what Bret is doing, this classic Victorian Gentleman boxer pose. But Jughead thinks all of this is fucking stupid, the need to pose and circle and whatever, because he’s been severely beaten up before, in ugly but effective ways, and he’s knocked someone out cold before too (RIP Kurtz). So he’s mocking Bret by mincing around like a hunchbacked praying mantis before delivering the knockout blow.

- The cost of this little act of sarcastic mockery though is to get bodychecked YET AGAIN in the hallway of a school. OH NO. I hate when this happens to Jughead. It hasn’t happened in so long (since S2 E11) that he’s genuinely really shocked and then very hurt.

- Donna Sweett, being a girl and probably not straight, thinks this whole ‘contest for a man of honor’ is bloody stupid, and explains the whole thing as pack behavior.

- Bret wants Jughead to walk away from the Baxter Bros contract and to drop out of the school. He also pronounces DuPont in the French way. What changed his mind? I think he was hurt that Jughead made fun of the boxing match even as he won it. And he really didn’t have to punch Bret that hard.

- I’m a better writer, I’m a better competitor and I’m a better man. Jughead is not used to having someone’s unabashed sexual admiration. He’s like, drunk with power. And he whispers this, after saying really mean things to Bret about him being a terrible writer (I mean the show says they are both worse than Donna by a LOT), and Bret is just so turned on. Jughead has never had this much sexual power over another person so he indulges himself by turning the tension up to 11 before saying “Can we get this started already?” and Dupont is so relieved.

Meanwhile -

The Terrible Cooper Women Are Terrible

- Betty’s punishment for cheating at the Quiz Show finals is suspension, being stripped of her EIC position at the newspaper and being banned from prom. And Bret has filed a justifiable restraining order against Betty. Alice is energetic and happy because, other than the prom, any one of those other things would make most universities that accepted a student reconsider their matriculation, and Betty has won the “We Regret To Inform You Bingo.”

Personal note: One of my college roommates had a mom who didn’t want her to go away to college, called her every night (the mom, to the roommate) weeping about how lonely she was in the house, why did she have to go away so far for school, she could just come home and teach piano to the neighborhood like she used to in high school. The roommate lasted 3 semesters and then dropped out. So I’ve seen a real Alice in real life.

- Betty decides to forgive her mother and seeks vengeance on Bret, fuck whatever happens to Jughead, and ropes in Alice who is all in, because Alice loves to encourage her daughters to destroy themselves. Yes, I know that Jughead is a sacrificial pawn in the Baxter Bros. Murder Cult and that Chipping intended for Jughead to be that, so Jughead would really have been killed if he’d stayed. However, Betty doesn’t know this, and this is not why she pursues the Chipping case. This is unconscious aggression against Jughead.

- Betty thinks Bret is the leader of the pack. It never occurs to her that Donna, a small, dark haired girl, could be the alpha, despite witnessing the great Veronica Lodge and the great Toni Topaz in action every day.

- The Cooper women visit Mrs Chipping, and Alice with her We are just here to help. Sure. A widow who says I do not believe my husband was having an affair with a teenage student is deserving of sympathy but has no credibility, but the show’s position is that a wife and widow would know 100% if her husband cheated on her or was a sexual predator, but bad girls like Donna Sweet lie about sexual abuse. And they Cooper Women go through the dead mans remains, and finds the Army recruitment pamphlets.

- One good thing: Moose is alive! But then a bad thing: He’s looking rather subdued and unhappy in his uniform, but that might be because he has to talk about the fact that his new start at Stonewall (recruited by Chipping!) got ruined, and he was terrorized by Bret about a supposed sex tape. The show leaves it carefully open as to WHO this was with, because Moose (as a reformed jock now gentleman bi king) refuses to say who the ‘classmate’ was. I expect it was a boy. Was it Jonathan?

- Betty breaks & enters into Bret’s room and is rifling through his things with the help of her mother. This is inexcusable. Not even Hiram does this. Bret really knows Betty very well, doesn’t he? He’s already sought a restraining order against her because he knows she’d do things like this. Betty is remarkably like Archie - the ends always justify the means, and they both think that if (you think that) you know a person has done one thing wrong, you can fuck them up as much as you want with impunity. Betty Cooper scares the shit out of me. I admire Bret’s self restraint. Bret also understands Jughead really well, because he (and Betty!) both know that Betty bringing fucking Alice into this dorm room to do this violation of Bret’s privacy would make Jughead very upset, so it’s a super effective way to get the awful Cooper Women out of his space.

Again I have to ask - What sort of honor and whose honor is Jughead fighting for? Betty does not give a shit about being honorable, at all, whatsoever. Betty is all about winning, exactly like Bret. Is Jughead fighting to recover his own honor, by being associated with such a dishonorable girl, by being so absolutely devoted to a girl who treats everyone badly?

- But. If someone had a sex tape of me, I would break into their house and set it on fire afterwards, so BETTY IS FULLY JUSTIFIED

Jughead Loses Heart About Stonewall like Betty always wanted

- Betty appears to be Jughead’s chess coach, and then grills him about exactly when and where the chess match will be .She does not tell Jughead about the repeat break ins to Stonewall. She could tell him about the sex tape, you know. Her worries about it. But she doesn’t because she wants to hurt him and leave him out of things, as revenge. I’m so hurt by this. Betty, at this stage, fully hates Jughead.

- If the most important person in your life does every possible thing to make their displeasure and dislike of you being a part of something very clear, it’s hard to sustain the courage and motivation to keep at it against difficulties. Betty has tried to write down a take down article that leads to Jughead getting threatened about his Holy Yale admission; she makes it blatantly unsafe for him to express happiness about anything good that happens there; she breaks into his room with her mother and rifles through his roommate's things and then breaks into a room in the school and commits trespass and theft, and then is caught red handed.

- Jughead could’ve won the chess match, but he throws it, instead, because Betty has made it very clear that the most important, stable relationship of his entire human existence is dependent on not committing to his own education, not committing to overcoming family trauma, not committing to finding his own place among his intellectual and artistic peers. Jughead wanted to win this honor duel, badly, but Betty just cut out his courage from under him. She makes Jughead’s entire life about choosing between Her and Everything Else. And he chooses Her. I no longer find this as romantic as I once did.

- If the genders of the players were reversed, Jughead would have been killed off for real.

- Jughead claims not to have any regrets about throwing the match, and he says what he’s supposed to say, that Betty is not a damsel in distress and those people don’t matter. But this is not true. He wanted to win, he wanted to belong, and while Betty was all about it when Jughead was exploring his Serpent side (JUST LIKE ALICE WITH FP) she could not bear the thought of him as a student of a prestigious school. No support there.

Archie Ruins FP Again

- I despise the fact that Uncle Fucking Frank is a mercenary. I hate mercenary storylines in general and I hate this one in particular because of Uncle Fucking Frank. He knows the dude who walks in on them is a mercenary and invites him to dinner with his nephew, into the house he’s crashing in and mooching off from. And he basically admits to committing human rights violations (I did things, I followed orders) but Archie is a Dumb and is only like, But He’s My UncleWuncle.

- Archie insists on inviting a totally strange man to sleep in his house because that man says the words Fred and son in the same sentence. He offers as an incentive, “My mom is not here.” (= I am alone here). Archie always wants to fill up his house with burly, bearded men in flannels. This is not about Fred, because Fred was not burly, he was lithe and pretty. This is genuine gay-baiting - a muscular cute boy constantly wanting to be surrounded by middle aged macho men, the more the better.

- I’ve held my own against this ultra-Marine types: FP is so very done with the Sheriff job, completely, even though at this point Hiram is too busy to mess with him much in a particular. FP only became sheriff to avoid serving another prison sentence or getting killed, and settled into for a bit because it allowed him some proximity to his college-man middle-class dreams from childhood. The thing is it only really held meaning for him because Jughead was around to be proud and look at him with that apple-cheek glow he gets whenever he mentions his dad is the sheriff. But now, Alice wants to be fucking a Serpent in her hot middle age, Jellybean is like Give Me Back My Mother and Jughead isn’t there, so he’s have some sort of empty nester syndrome a year early. So FP decides to rumble with the mercenary.

- I am trying to say as little as possible about the mercenaries but I will note that there’s some sort of honor code among the mercenary types, which Uncle Fucking Frank knows about, and if you break it, then there’s no limit on collateral damage, and he never tells Archie or FP anything about it while these two amateurs (a dumb kid and a small town crook turned small town sheriff) try to hatch a plan to save his ass. (Duckie? or whoever got murdered, for example, but his wife is around to call Uncle Fucking Frank).

- By the way, Mary Andrews is MIA because she’s been somewhere else (maybe Chicago?) ‘for a case.’ Right. But does she not take phone calls from her teenage son that she left alone with a brother-in-law that all the adults who know him think is a shifty criminal? Archie has been making all the terrible decisions about the family business all on his own and he never once thinks to call his lawyer mother.

- The mercenary attack on Archie which then becomes an attack on Kevin. The show lowkey admits that Kevin is an alpha because the mercenary knocks Kevin out one-handed and it makes him very menacing. He also throws Archie around like a rag doll and I kind of like it.

- Uncle Fucking Frank finally leaves (but not permanently, alas).

- Archie wants to be a simple man with honor, like his dad. Well you have half of that down anyway, dumbass.

Veronica and Katy Keene

- New York Is My Town, Not Yours. Veronica has an interview with Barnard College, so I guess this means she didn’t get into Columbia. I knew there was no way to tell her story to the Columbia recruiter.

- Katy Keene and Veronica Lodge look like identical twins and dress the same and have the exact same voice and intonation. So, Boyfriend Twins are a thing, but is there a gay girl equivalent? Because it really looks like Veronica hallucinated a mirror image of herself and is just talking to herself back and forth. And given this wonderful soulmate connection (it surpasses Bughead’s Hive-Mind moments) how has Veronica been able to cope with this loss?

- Veronica says Betty is her best friend to Katy and calls Jughead ‘her beau’ and they’re making long distance work (because she wants the best for people she loves, and Veronica loves Betty). But I note that Katy and Veronica go for men who are ultra masculine - big, muscular boxers, and they keep insisting that the boy they picked is ‘the best’ even though, with all due respect to KO Kelly, he was willing to box a dude that he knew was not in his weight class, so is he really... the best?

- Katy Keene has the same orientation towards her friends that Veronica does, by the way. Her mother is dying of cancer, but her beloved Veronica is in town, so they have a wonderful carefree, you’re so pretty no YOU’re so pretty date and finally, only when Veronica asks, does she unburden this huge tragedy, and says things like I’m sorry, I didn’t want to tell you, I didn’t want to cry today. This is same energy as Veronica bravely climbing into the jalopy to give Archie, who cheated on her with her best friend, a beautiful goodbye, full of smiles.

- Veronica gets into Barnard! ( And Hermione claims that Hiram is sick.)

What is this mess with Toni, Fangs, Kevin and Nick St Clair?

- Fangs is just so pleased that Kevin is talking to him again and he’s so cute I can’t stand it. The two boys hand each other a giant roll of cash on school premises and the only human who notices this is Toni (of course). Fangs calls the tickleporn business a side hustle and bats his long lashes about it.

- Someone on the Riverdale writing team definitely went to Yale, because guess who got into Harvard? Nick St. Clair. And note that that the Harvard admissions counselor was completely comfortable hinting, on a phone, to Veronica, that he’d been bribed by Hiram (Thank your father for the rum). But Betty not getting into Yale is literally the end of the world.

- It’s both true and enraging that almost every girl has a terrible sexual assault experience of some stripe but Toni’s idea of doing something about it is grotesque to me. She enacts vengeance. She drugs Nick, they symbolically gang rape him, against his orientation and using the bodies of not-straight men (Kevin and Fangs), and makes revenge porn, with which she threatens Nick. I hate this. And kudos to the brilliance of the Me Too movement, for finding a way different than this.

- Shirtless Fangs is hot.

#Well Betty Cooper you finally did it.#anti-bughead #katey keene x Veronica lodge #bret weston wallis #stonewall prep #riverdale recap #riverdale episode recap

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the-last-teabender · 4 years

Text

FANFIC: Oxventure - Duel Destinies

RATING: G

WORDS: Just under 7k

SUMMARY: Corazón gets hit on the head.

A/N: This isn’t my first time writing fanfic, but it’s my first time in literal decades writing something that a) isn’t going into a charity anthology and b) isn’t single-sentence goofs in my Gchat window with @randomthunk. So I actually am a little nervous to just yeet my work out into the world without an editor/publisher frontline protecting me from looking foolish. I do have plans to fic more tho.

I approached this as though I was writing an official tie-in because that’s my comfort zone (and occasionally my job). Which was a little challenging because there’s a lot that’s not part of the story but is part of the viewing experience. I have not mastered it in one story but the attempt was fun. Also I haven’t smashed alt-codes this obsessively while writing since I wrote about Señor 105.

Thanks aforementioned Ginger for being my beta reader and basically sitting on me to post this instead of hide it in my writing folder.

Anyway, if you like what I’m throwing out here, I have actually a lot of stuff in print and even more coming.

----------

“Right,” Dob said, pacing the length of the deck, “before we go, let’s review. Prudence, what happened yesterday?”

“We found a bad man killing off local slimes to make slime booze.”

“Good. Corazón, what happened yesterday?”

“I began my awesome new career as a detective and threw someone out a window.”

“All right. Merilwen?”

“Mow.”

“Excellent. Egbert?”

“I set a tavern on fire and got my seal very drunk on slime gin.”

“All right, that’s us caught up.”

That wasn’t the entire catch-up, but all of them knew the events of the day before well enough. The forest outside the town of Esterwell was in turmoil, according to the wizard Binbag after he tumbled unexpectedly out of a pantry. It was suddenly bereft of slimes — the cute little blobby creatures generally used for target practice by up-and-coming adventurers. As it happened, slimes had other uses. Serving as the base for a delightful high-end alcoholic brew, for one. Serving as the base of the entire local food chain, for another. If the slime population continued to plummet, eventually the other animal populations would follow suit.

An investigation of the local slime hunters (led by DCI Jeff Crimestopper, a pseudonym Corazón was becoming increasingly attached to) turned up that they were all in the employ of the same man: one Alonzo Horgan, owner of the Horgan Distillery. One especially talkative young hunter revealed that Horgan intended to “wring all the slimes out of Esterwell Forest” before upping sticks to his next hunting ground.

The goal was, in short, to stop Horgan’s machinations before he destabilized the entire local ecosystem and went on to do the same to others. Somewhere along the way, Dob had got it into his head that the goal was to start a brewery of their own and hold a cider-making contest in the Esterwell town square… an idea the group at large now referred to as “Plan C.”

Plan A, currently underway, was to continue the detective lark and either talk sense into Horgan or (more likely) run him out of town. Plan B was burning down the distillery.

“I’m still very much in favor of bumping Plan B up to Plan A,” said Prudence, wiggling her fingers as the group made their way back into Esterwell.

“Mrow,” Merilwen the cat grumbled from Dob’s shoulder, which translated to something like, “But that doesn’t actually solve the problem of making him stop.”

“Oh, fine,” Prudence huffed. “Detectives it is.”

Corazón pumped a fist low and (he thought) out of sight. “DCI Jeff Crimestopper back on the case, bay-bee.”

They arrived at the home of Alonzo Horgan — a palatial manor in a town that really wasn’t the sort to have palatial manors. At least half a dozen residences would have to have been knocked down to make way for the place, which stood half again as high as the buildings around it that had survived.

Merilwen hopped lightly from Dob’s shoulder, turning back into an elf again, as the half-orc tapped politely on the door.

“No, no.” Egbert shoved past him, balling up one scaly fist. “You’ve gotta really punch it.” He slammed his fist against the door several times, making it bow slightly under the pressure.

“Open up!” Corazón shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. “We have a warrant!”

“Don’t just say we have a warrant!” Merilwen hissed.

The door was opened mere moments later by a tall, rail-thin man with an upturned nose and a downturned moustache. “Mmcan I help you?”

Corazón pushed past the man. “Yeah, you can take us to Alonzo Horgan. We’re taking him down to the station for questioning.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Horgan is not—” But the man was cut off as the rest of the group piled past and into the house.

“Where is he, then? Upstairs?” Corazón pointed up the stairwell, one foot on the steps.

The man at the door, to his credit, did his best to maintain his decorum. “Mr. Horgan is not taking visitors.”

“We’re not visitors,” Dob said gruffly, looming over the man, “we’re detectives.”

“Is that so? Well, I do hope you meant what you said about having a warrant. Otherwise I may have to take you to the authorities.”

Alonzo Horgan’s voice silenced the group, but had it not, his presence would have. Fully six-foot-four, a stocky mix of fat and muscle generally only seen on back alley brawlers, stuffed into a fancy suit. His glare was imperious; his moustache was excellent.

Corazón swiveled and approached the master of the house. “Alonzo Horgan?”

“Yes, I’m… not sure who else I would be.” Horgan seemed put out for a moment, but recovered himself. “May I ask what business you have here?”

“DCI Jeff Crimestopper.” Corazón pulled a piece of paper from his coat, flashed it briefly, and put it away again. “This is my DI, Dob Tyler.”

Dob grinned toothily; had it not been Dob, it might have looked threatening. “Here to make sure my loose cannon superior does things by the book.”

Corazón gestured to the rest of the party. “DS Prudence, DC Merilwen. And, er, PC Egbert, he mostly makes the tea.”

“It’s really good tea,” Egbert piped up.

“No offense, sir…” Horgan gestured to Corazón. “But you look more like a pirate than a detective.”

“Deep cover, obviously. I wouldn’t expect a civilian to understand.”

Horgan waved a hand dismissively. “Even if I were to entertain the idea that you’re who you claim to be, I feel I’ve done nothing to warrant an investigation.”

Merilwen narrowed her eyes. “Nothing, Mr. Horgan?” Her voice was tense, hitting that slightly higher octave that her friends knew meant violence was quickly becoming an option. “Killing off an entire species for your own benefit is ‘nothing’? Allowing the local wildlife to starve is ‘nothing’?”

“Oh, it’s about the distillery, is it? I promise you, my dear, I’ve heard it all before.”

Dob gritted his teeth, giving Horgan a highly dramatic, highly knowing look. “I’d be careful if I was you, sir. DC Merilwen has a license to… er. Bear.”

Still, none of this seemed to faze Horgan. “If you think complaining about my methods is going to have any effect… let me assure you, it hasn’t yet. Now, unless you have any actual business with me…”

Prudence stepped up. “All right, look. Fine. We’re not actually detectives.”

“You don’t say,” Horgan deadpanned.

“That said… the whole slime issue is a real thing, and we really do need you to stop hunting them out completely. Or at least cut back.” Prudence looked back at Merilwen. “Cut back? Would that be good enough?”

“I prefer the idea of him stopping completely,” Merilwen seethed.

Prudence gestured to Merilwen. “Yeah, what she said. But I mean, it affects you, too. Do you like, uh… wild boar? I guess? Rabbit? Pheasant? I don’t know.” She spread her hands in an exaggerated shrug. “Screw up the food chain and you don’t get any of those.”

Horgan looked them all over, one by one. “You come into my home. You pretend to be something you’re not. And then you make demands of me that would effectively shut down my business. Give me one reason why I should even listen to what you have to say.”

Egbert had mostly detached from the scene in front of him, his eyes scanning his surroundings in search of something entertaining. They lighted on a pair of crossed swords on the wall, with a bronze plaque underneath: Esterwell Annual Fencing Championship, Second Place. Without thinking, he blurted out, “A duel.”

“I beg your pardon?” Horgan asked. The rest of the party fixed Egbert with confused looks.

“A duel,” the dragonborn repeated, with a little more confidence this time — confidence filled in a lot of blanks, in his experience. “If one of us bests you in a duel, you have to at least give us a proper audience.”

Much to the group’s surprise — including Egbert’s, truth be told — Horgan seemed to consider it. “Hmm. Well. I suppose it makes more sense than… whatever we’ve been doing.” He gestured at the room in general, then turned to Corazón. “On the condition that I fight this one.”

Corazón grinned. “Hell yeah. I’ll fight you. Prepare to have your whole scene wrecked by Corazón de Ballena.”

“I thought you said your name was Jeff Crimestopper.”

“I told you. Deep cover.”

Horgan sighed wearily and turned to his doorman. “See them out. Tomorrow at sunrise on the lawn. Come alone, whatever your name is. And pray you do not lose. I have no patience for time-wasters.”

The five were ushered out without another word.

“Not sure it’s wise to challenge a prizewinning fighter to a duel,” Merilwen noted when they were outside town again. “That sort of seems like the main thing he’ll be ready for.”

Egbert waved a hand. “Pff, it’s fine. The plaque on his wall said he was only second place. That means there’s at least one person better than him in town.”

“Still… What’s going to happen if Corazón if he loses?”

Corazón laughed. “Pff. Hah. Nothing. Because Corazón won’t lose.” He unsheathed his rapier and stopped to take a few jabs at a nearby tree. A heavy branch, near to breaking, creaked overhead. “You know what my crew used to call me?”

“Yes,” said Prudence, “you’ve complained about it several times.”

“I mean in battle. You know, when we captured ships. My swordsmanship is second to none. They used to call me Corazón the—”

There was a crash, and silence.

Egbert stopped walking, waiting for the punchline. “Corazón the what?”

“Er.” Merilwen pointed back toward the tree hesitantly. “Corazón the unconscious, apparently.”

Prudence turned and lifted away the branch, wincing at the sight of the pirate splayed out on the ground. “Oh, dear…” Then she looked up at the group. “So does this mean I’m captain now?”

---

The general consensus had been to let Corazón be once he’d been carried back to the Joyful Damnation and bundled into bed. He would likely be full of opinions and complaints as soon as he woke up. That, and he’d need his rest before dueling Horgan the next morning.

There was no bleeding as far as they could tell. Just a big bruise that would get bruisier over the next few days. Egbert dropped a quick bit of healing on Corazón which, while it would likely be helpful in the long run, did nothing to wake him. Eventually, Dob took up a seat by the enormous bed in the captain’s quarters, keeping an eye on the patient and picking out a few chords to pass the time. Just as he was getting a good riff worked out...

“Ow.”

“Ow?” Dob leaned over the bed. “Did you say ow?”

“Yes, I said ow. Because I’m in pain.”

Dob jumped up from his seat and threw the door open. “Guys! Guys! He’s awake!”

Prudence was the first to run in. “Is he okay?”

“Sounds like it.”

Egbert followed, with Merilwen bringing up the rear. They crowded around Corazón’s bed, realized at the same time that that would probably look weird from his vantage point, and backed off a bit.

“Corazón?” Dob leaned in slightly. “How’s your head?”

He squinted up at Dob. “What did you call me?”

“Oh, right.” Dob laughed. “Silly me. How’s your head, DCI Crimestopper?”

This just seemed to confuse him more. “Who… what are you talking about?” Then he pulled himself up to sitting, perhaps a little more quickly than he ought, and pressed a hand to the top of his head, looking around. “I feel like I’ve been beaned with an entire tree. Where the hell am I?”

“Your room,” Prudence offered. “We figured you’d want a nap after the bludgeoning.”

He shook his head, still sounding a bit dazed. “No… this isn’t my room. My room is bigger. And it doesn’t rock and creak. Are we… are we on a ship?” He looked up at the others again, as though seeing them for the first time.

“... who the hell are all of you?”

There was an awkward silence.

“He’s messing about, right?” Egbert grinned nervously at the others.

“It’s Corazón,” Prudence said quickly, “of course he’s messing about. Just humor him, he’ll be on to something new when he’s tired of it.”

Dob was already on board at humor him. He pressed a hand to his forehead. “Oh, no! Corazón! All our precious memories, lost forever! Please say it isn’t so, old friend!”

If Corazón was acting, he was really leaning into the deadpan delivery. “Is this some sort of prank? It’s not a very good one, if…” His gaze wandered down to his hands resting on the bed sheet, his sleeves wrinkled back somewhat. His eyes went wide, and he made a sort of choking, stammering sound.

Then, again far more quickly than he probably should have, he threw himself out of bed, shoving past Egbert on the way to the largest of his mirrors. Carefully, he pulled his collar aside. And gasped.

“Oh, my God, I’ve been tattooed in my sleep!”

“Gosh,” Egbert said with an admiring smile, “he’s really devoting himself to the bit, isn’t he?”

Merilwen shook her head slightly. “I… don’t… know if it’s a bit.”

“Which one of you did this to me?!” Corazón pointed at the tentacle tattoo emerging from under his collar. “Why would you do that? Why… what happened to my hair!? How long have I been asleep!?” He grabbed the nearest person — Egbert — by the collar. “Are you trying to change my identity!? Am I going to be sold off to the highest bidder!? What’s your plan!? You have to tell me!”

Dob grabbed for his lute, a nervous grin plastered on his face. “Ooooh! Oh, dear! Looks like someone could use a nice lullaby.”

Merilwen held out a warning hand to Dob. “No? No. One second.” She waved a hand to Corazón, the way one might a skittish fox. “Hey, over here.”

“What!? What do you want now!?”

“Just. Okay. Calm down for a second. Calm…” Merilwen inhaled and exhaled slowly, guiding the breathing with her hands. Corazón, surprisingly did the same. That in itself was a sign that something was off.

“Okay, just keep your eyes on me, all right?”

“Sure.” Corazón’s voice was strained.

Merilwen rooted around in the pocket of one of Corazón’s jackets, folded neatly over a nearby chair. She found what she was looking for — a little leather pouch of gold coins — and poured the contents out into her hand. She showed them to Corazón, as though setting up a magic trick. He watched and nodded tensely, his jaw set.

“Dob,” she said with a sweet smile, opening the cabin window. “Would you do the honors?”

“Would I?” Without hesitation, he took the little handful of coins from Merilwen, slid over to the window, and chucked them out into the sea, one by one.

All eyes turned toward Corazón.

“Yes, and?” The nervousness was tinged with irritation. “What?”

Another awkward silence, this one longer. And awkwarder. As they all, in their own time, came to terms with the fact that Corazón was not, in fact, acting.

Prudence tapped him experimentally on the shoulder. He flinched away, balling his hands into fists and holding them in front of his face.

“Hey, hey, whoa! No, no, we’re your friends! It’s us!” Prudence smiled, gesturing around the room. “You know. The Oxventurers! Can’t you recognize us?”

Corazón lowered his fists. “If you mean could I pick you out of a lineup, then yes, I certainly could.”

“Corazón…”

“Hff… and stop calling me that! It’s weird!” He brushed off his sleeve where Prudence had tapped him. “If you’re my kidnappers, then I would hope you already know who I am.”

“Y-Yeah.... Sorry.” Prudence frowned, then smiled. “Percy?”

“Thank you. That’s more like it.” And Corazón made a break for the deck.

---

“All I’m saying,” said the half-orc with the large hammer and the very nice hair, “is that we could be having a cider-making contest in the town square right now.”

“Or burning things,” said the tiefling, as a pair of ancient tomes played around her heels like rowdy puppies. “We could also be burning things right now.”

If this was a kidnapping, it was a very civilized one. Percy hadn’t had any practical experience with being kidnapped, to be fair. His father had suggested that it might happen once or twice in his youth, because that was just how life was for the children of rich and influential people. But after making it to adulthood without ever waking up in a dingy cellar surrounded by leering mercenaries, he’d just put it to the side.

He’d also been a bit disappointed, as escaping from said mercenaries could have been fun. But in retrospect, he might not have done as well at that as he liked to pretend.

He wasn’t tied up, or locked up. At worst, he had been prevented from leaping off the ship by all four of his kidnappers (and a seal, he was still contending with that information) piling themselves on top of him. They’d bundled him back into the captain’s quarters while they consulted with each other. Percy took the time to shave — the itch from his stubble was frazzling his already-frazzled brain — and change into a shirt that still had functional buttons.

The change had gotten a slight stare of disbelief from his captors, as though he’d gone and swapped heads, but no actual comments were made. And now, the dragonborn was sitting by him on the deck and handing him a cup of tea, and it smelled suspiciously like what he drank at home, and yes, this was absolutely one of his teacups.

“So!” the dragonborn said with a toothy grin. “Cora-... er, Percival. Percy? Mr. Milquetoast? Sorry, not sure what to call you now.” He had a cup of his own, but rather than sipping from it, he opened his long snout and splashed the contents inside. Judging by the reaction that followed, the tea was still very hot.

“Just, er… whichever? I guess?” Why was he sitting on a ship drinking tea with his kidnappers while they asked what to call him? Why had his father not been mentioned yet? Was that still incoming? His teacup rattled against the saucer.

“Mmmm… Percy. I’ve always thought you looked like a Percy.”

“Always?” Percy put his teacup down shakily on its saucer. “Then you’ve been spying on me? For how long?”

“No!” The dragonborn waved a hand frantically in front of himself. “No, no, I mean… we’re not…” He looked behind him, where the other three were peering at the scene thoughtfully. “Um, guys, I’m not doing great. Someone else try.”

The elf stepped in and tapped him on the shoulder, as though relieving him from duty. Good. As far as Percy could tell, she was the most logical of the group. She wasn’t panicking… not that he could see, at least.

“So you’re Good Cop, then?” Percy eyed her warily.

“No…” The elf sighed, a sort of long-suffering sigh that made him feel like this was not the first long-suffering sigh she’d issued him. “We’re your friends, really. And we’re just trying to figure out how to help you.”

Percy narrowed his eyes. “My friends.”

“Yes.”

“Not magical kidnappers looking for a piece of the Milquetoast fortune.”

“No. Not magical kidnappers looking for a piece of the family fortune. I promise.”

“I mean, I have friends at home. I can just go home to my actual friends, and not whatever you guys are pretending to be.”

The elf’s face settled into an expression that somehow managed to be both neutral and confrontational, her lips pressed into a line. “Name four friends you have at home.”

Damn. “Uh, th-there’s, uh… there’s Steve… F-Friendsman.”

“Yeah.”

“There’s, a-um, Roger… M’buddy.”

The elf pressed a hand to her face. “Please, at least let us try to help you.”

She seemed absolutely genuine. It was making his head hurt. This was not how criminals acted. As far as he knew. “Fine, help me, or whatever it is you want to do.”

“All right, so…” The elf clasped her hands together. “It’s probably just a matter of jogging your memory. You got a little bop on the head, it shook things up, but we can help you connect things up again. Right?”

“Sure,” Percy said hesitantly, now with the added wrinkle of wondering when and how he’d been hit over the head. He considered asking, but he could already hear the answer. No, we didn’t hit you over the head intentionally. It was a love tap. Something like that.

The elf smiled. It didn’t seem like a kidnapper’s smile. But again, he had nothing to go on. Maybe kidnappers had really nice smiles. “Okay, good. So let’s just rattle out a few of the high points, and see what your brain latches onto.”

Percy nodded, taking a sip from the teacup he still held in a death grip.

“Okay. Spicy rat?” She paused, and he wasn’t sure what for. After a short silence, she picked up again. “No? Okay, that was a while ago, admittedly. Uh… baby-making watch?”

“Babies don’t come from watches,” Percy scoffed. “They come from under cabbage leaves.”

The elf ground to a halt in her questioning, but picked up again with a shake of the head. “What about the party? The one where you went dressed as a sexy nurse and made a teenage girl cry.”

Percy scowled. “I would never do that!”

The half-orc chuckled. “Oh, you very much did.”

“I will not allow you to paint me with the same brush as you, you… s-scoundrels!” Percy felt a chill down the back of his neck. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? You’re trying to convince me I’m one of you and whisk me away to do unspeakable crimes, is that it?”

“Hasn’t taken much trying so far, mate,” Merilwen grumbled.

“Waaaait wait wait wait.” The tiefling squeezed up next to the elf. “We’re coming at this from the wrong angle. He’s clearly forgotten stuff from before we met him, too, right? What we need to do is remind him of why he became a pirate.”

Percy looked around the ship. Then down at the clothes he’d woken up in. And the tattoo on his wrist. “I’m a pirate?”

“Yep, you are a pirate.”

“So… this really is my ship?”

“Er, our ship, yes.” The tiefling seemed to take a lot of pride in saying that. Well, being co-owner of a ship was something to be proud of… if it was true, he’d probably let himself feel a bit proud, too. “So, maybe if you can summon up the feelings that made you want to run away from home and be a pirate, the rest will follow. So, tell us about your dad.”

“He’s… dumb?” Percy shrugged. “He’s annoying? I don’t know, it’s a lot of effort to run away from him for being dumb and annoying. I’ve got nothing.”

The tiefling leaned in conspiratorially. “Nothing about what a bad dad he is? How he has ridiculous expectations of you? Doesn’t want you to have fun and live your own life?” She paused. “How he’s got a stupid wig and he’s all stuffy and bossy?”

Percy leaned away from her. “You seem to have plenty against him already.”

“Oh, no, no. I don’t hate him. You do.”

“No, it really does sound like it’s you.”

The tiefling laughed, waving a hand. “Oh, no, that’s just because he bothers you. It’s a support thing. I’d totally love to live in his big ol’ house.”

“So you’re telling me you don’t like my father, but you do like his money, and that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

The tiefling’s face twisted into a confused frown. “Oh, man. Yeah, we do kinda sound like we kidnapped you for ransom, don’t we?”

Percy flinched away, nearly dropping his teacup. Oddly, the tiefling was once again trying to reassure him. “Which we didn’t?? Which we didn’t. I’m just saying.” She sighed. “I guess he forgot whatever happened that made him want to run away, too. How about you, Egbert? Got any paladin magic for him?”

“I’ve got something better!”

All eyes, Percy’s included, turned to the dragonborn — who was now swinging a mace from one clawed hand.

“So, you know how in all the stories, right? Someone gets knocked on the head and gets amnesia, but then they get hit in the same spot and all their memories come back. Let’s just do that!”

The dragonborn strode over to Percy, winding up the mace. Percy stumbled backwards, his teacup falling and shattering on the deck. “Don’t you dare!”

“Egbert, not that mace!” the elf shouted.

“Oh, it’s fiiiine. I had to hit whatsisname loads of times before he actually turned into a seal.”

Percy looked at the seal. The seal looked back.

“Eg.”

The dragonborn raised his mace over his head. Percy stumbled backwards towards the door to the captain’s quarters, eyes locked on the cursed weapon. He reached behind him for the doorknob and twisted frantically. The door wouldn’t give way.

The elf flung herself at the dragonborn, turning into an octopus in midair. The two hit the deck, the mace rolling harmlessly across the deck as the octopus held the would-be attacker in place. Percy finally managed to yank the door open, racing into the captain’s quarters and slamming the door behind him.

“I meant a spell!” Percy heard the tiefling yell from the other side of the door. “You’ve got more healing spells, don’t you?”

“Oh, riiiight…”

There was a gentle tap at the door. Percy eyed it nervously.

“Heeey, buddy. You okay?” It was the half-orc. “Can I come in?”

“No, you absolutely cannot come in. You’re all insane and there’s a seal man out there saying egg.”

“That’s cool, that’s cool. I’ll just sit out here, how’s that?”

Percy heard a gentle thump against the other side of the door. “So… you really don’t remember anything, do you? About us, or your pirate crew, or any of that?”

“Last thing I remember is going to bed at Milquetoast Manor and thinking tomorrow night’s party was going to be very boring. Then I woke up in bed on a strange boat, with all of you standing over me looking ready to dissect me or something.” Percy sat down, leaning on the other side of the door. His head still felt foggy. “So? Which one of you blackjacked me?”

“You blackjacked yourself with a tree.”

Percy frowned. “Is that the sort of thing I’m likely to do?”

“Oh, yes,” the half-orc said cheerfully. “Merilwen had a stack of tree puns ready to go, but under the circumstances it seemed, uh… bit tasteless.”

“Merilwen?”

“The elf. Don’t worry, you can hear them later. You know, when your head’s right again.” A pause. “Oh! Haha. Of course. I’m Dob, by the way. The tiefling is Prudence, and the big dragon man is Egbert. And we’re all your friends, and we all do super cool things together.”

Percy nodded, still not completely convinced. Then he realized Dob wouldn’t be able to see him on the other side of the door. “If you say so.”

“Gosh. Introducing myself to you. That brings back memories.” Dob stopped himself, fumbling, as if he’d just said something extremely offensive. “I mean… you know…”

Against his better judgment, Percy got up and opened the door. Dob, leaning heavily on it, tumbled backwards… but turned the tumble into a backwards somersault and landed lightly on his feet. He gave a little bow, and Percy felt he ought to clap. Just considering the effort.

“You ready to come out and talk to the others?”

Percy leaned to one side and looked out onto the deck. Egbert was on his feet again, with Merilwen (now an elf) still clinging to his back, as though uncertain whether the dragonborn could be trusted on his own yet. Prudence wore a friendly smile that seemed to say “I’m not going to sacrifice you to my eldritch god, but I’m also not not going to sacrifice you to my eldritch god.” His trusted friends. Apparently.

Before Percy could answer, Dob slapped him on the back and walked him out onto the deck. “All right. We’ve all had a little breather, a little think, and I think… and this is just me… we should back-burner the memory loss issue and focus on the bigger problem.”

“There’s a bigger problem?” Percy looked at Dob incredulously.

The group at large winced. “Yeah…” Dob continued to speak for the group, and no one seemed to mind being relieved of that duty for the moment. “See, Percy. Percival. Friend. Our good friend of so long…”

“Just tell me what’s going to happen to me.”

“You have to duel someone tomorrow morning.”

Percy extracted himself from Dob’s friendly side-arm. “What? Why? Why would I do that?”

“Again,” said Dob, “if it makes you feel better, it is extremely on brand.”

“Hsfd… it doesn’t make me feel better! I have to fight someone tomorrow and I’m not me! I mean, I am me, but I’m not this other me who went and did a thing I didn’t do!”

Amongst them, Percy’s friends(?) laid out the entire situation. All he managed to retain were slimes, collapse of the natural world, very large man, and imminent swordfight. The rest was a sort of blur, and one he was in no mood to attempt to figure out.

“I can’t do this.” It was a statement of fact. “Maybe this Corazón guy can do this, but I can’t. Horgan’s going to be expecting some jerk pirate who can swordfight.”

“We can try another refresher,” suggested Merilwen.

Egbert reached for his mace. “I could try—-”

“No,” said everyone, possibly even the seal.

“Look,” Dob said gently, “we’ll have puh-lenty of time to work on the memory thing, right? All we have to do is get through tomorrow, and if it hasn’t cleared up by then, we’ll find someone to help you, no problem.”

“How can you be so sure?” Percy asked, the fretting feeling coming back even stronger than before.

Egbert shrugged. “It’ll happen. That’s how it tends to go. A problem comes up, and then a couple days later someone comes along with a quest that’ll fix it. It’s really handy.”

“Okay, that’s great for after tomorrow morning. But what about me, tomorrow morning, with swords? What’s my guarantee I get past that alive? Because I’ve never actually stabbed a man.”

“Yes you have,” Prudence pointed out.

“Like a lot,” Merilwen added.

“Apparently you kicked a man to death once,” said Egbert. “I mean, I found out later, but I believe it.”

“But I don’t remember that!” Percy flailed an arm helplessly. “It’s… hds… that’s some future guy and I’m not the future guy, I’m the me guy. How is the me guy going to survive?”

The group fell silent.

“... did I actually kick a man to death?”

They all nodded.

“Oh…”

“And see? That’s why we believe in you, Cor… er, Percy.” Dob threw an arm around Percy’s shoulders again. “We know what you’re capable of. We know it’s in here.” He jabbed at Percy’s chest with one finger. “And in here.” At his head.

“Ow!”

“The head, Dob,” Merilwen hissed, “watch the head.”

“Right, right. Look. We’ve got tonight to train you up into a believable Corazón de Ballena. You’ve already got the look, you’ve already got the voice. That’s more than most people start with.”

Percy let out a weak groan.

“Hey! No, this is good! We can do this! And maybe, somewhere along the way, something will trigger the ol’ bean and the memories will just come flooding back. Right, guys?”

The rest of the team seemed to believe it about as much as Percy did. Which wasn’t much.

“Are you sure we can’t just…” Percy motioned to the anchor rope. “Leave?”

“No,” Merilwen said firmly. But her expression was still hesitant. “No, we have to stop Horgan. More than anything else, that has to happen.”

She was insistent. This was important to her. Percy groaned again.

“Come on, buddy.” Dob lifted his arm from Percy’s shoulders, grabbing him by both arms and staring him in the eyes. “Look me in the eye.”

“Yeah. Looking.”

“Now. Are you a Thieves Cant, or a Thieves Can?”

Merilwen, at least, seemed to appreciate what Dob was going for.

---

Plan B no longer stood for Burning. Plan B, as indicated by a wild-shaped Merilwen taking up a spot behind the topiaries on Horgan’s lawn, now stood for Bear. And possibly Bomb, and Blast, and Bard Casts Thunder Wave, depending on who got trigger-happy first.

No amount of swordfighting or storytelling brought Corazón’s memory back. Nor did any amount of actually insisting on calling him Corazón. Their last ditch hope — that he’d wake up the next morning acting like nothing had happened — didn’t pan out, either. Dob gave pep talk after pep talk as Corazón fretted uncharacteristically, the latter eventually wrapping the uneaten bacon sandwich he’d made for himself in a piece of paper and stowing it in a jacket pocket. Finally, though, they’d all had to take up their positions and leave the rest to luck.

Corazón was left to make the walk up the lawn alone, but the other four had formed a perimeter: Merilwen in the topiary, Dob in a nearby tree, Prudence behind a fence, and Egbert peering over a hedge. Dob promised to shoot Corazón an occasional prompt if things got hairy; but, by and large, it was all him.

As the sun began to rise, Corazón walked up the paved path to the appointed spot. He’d not quite gotten his own swagger down, instead walking slow, measured steps with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

Try to look like you’re too cool for the room! Dob thought; Corazón looked up and around, surprised, then seemed to remember what Dob had said about sending mental messages. He stopped where he was, pulled his hands out of his pockets, squared his shoulders, and walked even more awkwardly up the path.

Fine. It’d have to do.

Just as the light of sunrise hit its best and most aesthetic hue, Alonzo Horgan and his servant walked out. The former wore a rapier at his belt.

“Corazón de Ballena,” Horgan said broadly, his voice dripping with fake friendliness. “Or are we going by something new today?”

“No, er, that’s me.”

Dob thought another swift message.

“I mean… that’s right! That’s me, Corazón. The mighty pirate. Here to run you through like a tasty kebab and grill… grill you on the fires of justice? What the hell does that mean?”

Just go with it, Dob thought irritably, but the moment had passed. Shame. He was rather proud of that one.

Horgan eyed Corazón with amusement. “I can wait if you need a moment.”

“No, no. Erm. Yes, that’s me.” Corazón’s hand hovered over the hilt of his rapier. He was tense. He was ready. He might have been about to faint. It was hard to tell.

Horgan’s retainer’s voice was soft. None of them could hear it from their respective points along the perimeter. Corazón didn’t look especially surprised by any of it, which hopefully meant there was nothing odd about the rules of the duel.

From their spots, separated though each of them was, they all had the same thought at the same time: what would it take? What hadn’t they done? Would they need a spell? Some sort of quest? A skilled healer? Would another bop on the head really have done it?

A shrill whistle blew. Each of them was shaken out of their thoughts to see that the duel had begun, and Corazón was already flagging quickly. It was less of a duel and more of a chase, the enormous Horgan lumbering across the lawn after his smaller opponent. Corazón, for his part, was holding his ground… though “his ground” was constantly moving backwards across the lawn in zigzags.

His heel came dangerously close to a stray root, nearly hidden by the grass.

“Look out!” Egbert shouted. Merilwen, Dob, and Prudence shushed him. Horgan looked up and around for the source of the voice. Corazón, on the other hand, missed the warning entirely. His heel caught on the root, and he windmilled backwards, landing flat on his back.

Merilwen hesitated behind the topiary, one huge, clawed paw creeping around the side of the greenery. Was it go time? The others were in the same state of indecision, poised to attack but waiting to see what happened.

Corazón lifted his head slightly. The massive form of Horgan hovering over him, blade raised threatening, blocked out the faint light of sunrise. The sword hung there for a moment… then was flung across the lawn, accompanied by a disgusted sigh from Horgan.

“How very disappointing.”

The group shot each other quick glances. The message was clear. Well, clear-ish. “Stop Horgan before he can leave” was clear enough, but what would be done with him once apprehended was likely still up in the air. Corazón, unaware of any of this, propped himself up on his elbows.

“Where are you going?” he asked weakly. “We’re not done here.”

“I rather think we are.” Horgan shook his head in… amusement? Disappointment? It was hard to tell. “What a shame. You were so full of piss and vinegar yesterday, and today you’ve got no real fight in you.”

“I’ve got fight… I’ve got plenty of… hhhh.” Corazón put a hand to his head.

“Serves me right, thinking I’d get a good fight out of some puffed-up fake pirate.”

“... what did you say?” Corazón’s voice was suddenly oddly sharp and cold.

Horgan chuckled. “You heard me. You’re less convincing than the chap I hired for my niece’s seventh birthday party.” He waved a hand to his servant. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve not had breakfast yet and I’m peckish. Think I might go to the kitchen and have a bit of a graze.”

On his next step, Horgan’s booted foot slid forward, sending him falling backwards into a puddle of grease that had absolutely not been there moments ago. Now it was his turn to look up at a looming silhouette: Corazón de Ballena, sword pointing down threateningly in one hand, bacon sandwich in the other.

“How appropriate. You fight like a cow.”

Horgan spluttered, eyes bulging. “You… what nonsense is this!?”

“It’s called the power of grease, that’s what nonsense this is. Now get up and fight me so we can have our little talk. Or would you rather we just go ahead and burn your whole scene down?”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Yeah, you’re right, I wouldn’t. I think Prudence might, though.” Corazón shouted toward the fence. “Prudence! Plan B for burn?”

Prudence threw her hands in the air. “Plan B for buuuurn!”

Horgan had managed to pull himself up to one knee, the grease still dangerously slick beneath him. “I said to come alone!”

“Yeah, well, pirate. Don’t know what you expected.” Corazón stepped back, taking a bite of his sandwich. “So, I’m calling this a win for Team Oxventure. Which means it’s time for some negotiations concerning your, er, current business model.”

“But…” Horgan looked in the direction of his servant. He was long gone. Whether he’d run off, or whether the large bear standing where he’d stood had disposed of him, Horgan couldn’t tell.

“Oh, yes. That’s our sustainability advisor, Merilwen. She’ll be taking over from here.”

Merilwen growled.

---

“So what you’re saying,” said Egbert, “is that my plan was the best and would have worked.”

“Hff… no! Absolutely not.” Corazón was rubbing a hand over his chin, displeased with the lack of facial hair. “A one-in-six chance of being turned into an animal is not a best plan. Why did you let me shave? I hate it.”

“It’ll grow back.” Prudence poured out a mug of slime beer… the last remaining barrel, which they’d taken with them as a gratuity after aggressively convincing Horgan to discontinue his fermented slime line. She offered the mug to Merilwen, who waved a hand in front of herself emphatically.

“No, I don’t want to drink the poor baby slimes…” The rest became too high-pitched and tearful to translate.

“I’ll drink the poor baby slimes.” Dob grabbed the mug and necked half of it, much to Merilwen’s chagrin. “Anyway, what snapped you out of it? Was it hitting your head again?”

Corazón wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Don’t know. I know I got really mad when whatsisname called me a fake pirate, and I wasn’t having that.”

Prudence’s eyes lit up. “Ohh, spite! Literally the one thing we didn’t think to try!”

“Well,” said Dob, passing Corazón his mended teacup topped off with beer, “I think we’ve all had a chance to learn something about friendship and patience and being true to ourselves.”

Egbert poured himself a pint. “I haven’t learned anything.”

“I have.”

Everyone looked at Corazón. “Have you?” Dob asked.

“Yep.” Corazón took a sip of beer from the teacup. “We are absolutely terrifying.”

Merilwen nodded sagely.

“Yeah,” Prudence said dreamily. “It’s good.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to my room, and I’m not coming out again until my good facial hair is back.” The door to the captain’s quarters slammed behind Corazón.

And that is the story of how the Oxventurers brought down a corrupt businessman with a breakfast sandwich.

#oxventure #outside xbox #i'm supposed to be writing other things but i won't tell if you won't #anyway yes i write stories a lot i do them for a living #please read them #i love approval from strangers

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logan-is-noggin · 3 years

Text

Anxious Beauty part 2

word count: 2566

warning: play fighting

the years passed and the three fairies raised Prince Virgil, who they affectionately nicknamed storm cloud, or just cloud for short, in an unassuming cottage in the nearby forest.

Now that the Prince was four, on cool nights like tonight, they left the tots bedroom window open to allow the sweet smell of the peach trees that grew outside to flow inside.

Logan's faithful raven companion croft, landed on a branch outside the open window. When his master had no use of him. Croft often found himself observing the object Logan seemed so fascinated by. But tonight he had a mission to finish. The bird hopped to the windowsill and peered inside.

Cloud rolled over in his crib and blinked his eyes open, hearing the creaking nearby. When he saw his bird friend he shaking stood on his bed and reached for him. But croft flew inside, in a loop, dropping what he carried in his beak before flying out the window and away.

Cloud looked down and saw what the bird had left. A dark old fashion key. In the handle was a purple jewel in the shape of a heart.

The next morning when Patton saw Virgil with the key, he was puzzled. He didn't recall the king giving it to his son when they departed, the others also denied giving it to the Prince. Patton reached to take it away, but once he did, the toddler let out a loud wail. Patton quickly gave it back. " okay, you can keep it." Since that day, cloud always had the key with him or else he was very upset. As he grew up he played in the woods like any child. For a time, the curse was forgotten.

"okay Roman that's all for tonight, it's getting late kiddo."

He took the bowl from the Prince and set it in the sink, he would wash it in the morning. "You can't stop there padre, I haven't even burst onto the scene yet."

"He can continue the story tomorrow Roman, we're filming with Thomas tomorrow remember? We each need to be rested for our performance, we don't need you yawning while the cameras on." Logan chided as he walked up to his room.

The next day every could see how impatient Roman was being, he groaned any time anyone messed up their lines, which made Virgil start messing up on purpose.

That night at dinner Roman are twice as fast as usual when Patton placed the dishes in the sink Logan sighed as said " I can clean up tonight Patton." Roman smiled and practically yanked Patton out of the kitchen "thanks teach!" He called.

Roman sat cross legged as Patton stood before him.

"Alright let me remember where we were..."

Twelve years passed and cloud grew into a fine young man. That morning the three seemed to be trying to get him out of the house. " why don't you go play outside, maybe go for a swim? It's a lovely warm day out." Patton encouraged. Cloud nodded as he slipped on his gray vest over his white long sleeve shirt. Leaving the top button undone. Cloud opened the Dutch door of the cottage and waved goodbye to the three. " have fun. Don't go too far, but don't come back too quickly.." The three called out over each other. Cloud stood his head as he walked off. He could tell when they were trying to hide something. And the lad was always kind enough to play along with their surprises.

The forest was empty today, only filled with the sounds of the forest animals, it was alright, Virgil had perfected how to entertain himself.

Cloud walked between trees swinging himself forward to grab the next trunk. Walking across a fallen tree with his arms out to steady himself. He unlocked his boots and walked through the river, he scooped up a smooth stone and tossed it, the rock skipping thrice before sinking to the bottom. He picked up a stick and swung it around, pretending to fight an invisible foe. His parents often were over cautious when it came to raising him, not letting him eat fruit right off the tree near his home, though he sneaked berries from bushes when he was in the woods. Only remus let him get away with things the others found dangerous, like fighting. " come on you two! He's gonna have to learn to fight eventually if he's going to be king." Remus whispered one afternoon. So they relented and let Virgil have supervised battles with remus.

Not paying attention as he swung his stick-sword, cloud had begun to sing.

" I heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the Lord, but you don't really care for music do ya?

It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift, the baffled king composing hallelujah"

Prince Roman and his hunting party were riding back after an uneventful morning, he could tell his mare rose was thirsty having not been watered since they left so he told the rest to go on without him as he slowly rode into the woods. The canopy from the treetops immediately cooled Roman from the sun. Once his eyes adjusted he led rose to the small pond they often visited when he first got her.

As she drank Roman sat on a stone to rest himself, he refilled his canteen and took a sip when he heard a noise. He shot up, hand on his sheathed sword just in case of danger. After listening he realized the sound was singing. Even from this distance Roman was spellbound. He had never heard a sweeter tenor in his life.

" hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah

he took hold of his horses bridle and walked towards the noise of the voice. He found boy alone through the trees in the clearing. He held a stick and looked like he was fencing something Roman could not see. Roman smirked and found his own falls. Branch, not wanting to scare the boy away by using his real sword.

(Vpov)

Suddenly someone burst out of the trees and stood three feet away. He called to challenge him. Usually cloud would run from the stranger but seeing that he also wielded a stick let him know he was also playing.

The two slowly circled each other, Virgil tried to remember Remus's lecture on strategies but he almost always tangent off into talking about wounds. So he decided to try and copy the man. When he advanced, Virgil tried to stay swords distance away. When He swung Virgil brought his up and they hit with a deafening whack. Virgil did the same but his opponent ducked before it could make contact. More jabs were taken and all too soon cloud was backed against a tree with the "sword" to his throat.

" Not much for training, but a decent fight anyhow." He said as he tossed his stick to the side.

" well, my um, parents don't like me fighting a lot. They're worried I could get hurt." Cloud mumbled.

Roman waved him off " nonsense. Every man should learn the art of dueling, if the need arose to save a bachelor or damsel in distress." He said proudly.

" ill make note of that."

" how rude of me. My name is Roman." He said as he brushed back his red cape.

Virgil mildly panicked at what to do. He wasn't sure if it was right to tell his name to a stranger.

" you can call me cloud. It's what my parents call me."

" intriguing." A high shinny made Virgil flinch. Roman saw his fear and placed a hand on his shoulder. " fear not. That is just rose. I almost forgot I left her in the brushes." He whistled with two gloved fingers in his mouth and suddenly a white mare with a rose gold mane leapt through the opening and trotted to her owners side. " this is my rose. The best and most beautiful mare in the entire kingdom, in my humble opinion."

"Very humble.." Cloud teased. Roman rolled his eyes. " would you like to go for a ride?" He said, holding his hand out. Cloud glanced around wondering what Patton would say if he were here. He had never ridden a horse before. " I guess so." Roman quickly mounted then reached down to help cloud onto the space behind him. " I'm not gonna fall am I?"

" just hold onto me. Ill keep you safe."

First they walked down the path, Roman making sure Virgil was feeling secure before he clicked at the horse who sped up galloping throughout the trees. Roman laughed as clouds grip around his waist tightened. She slowed to a stop at the edge of the forest in a clearing. They both dismounted and cloud wrapped his arms around him. " I suppose ill think twice about riding a strangers horse." Roman laughed again. They walked a ways until they reached a spot cloud knew well. A tree had fallen years ago but continued to grew horizontally, making the perfect sitting spot. They rested as they watched their surroundings.

" ave you ever watched the sunrise from here cloud? That is truly a magical experience."

" no, but I have a fair view from my home. We can see the village and the castle well."

Roman hopped down and tugged cloud along with him. " what are we doing now?"

" since your fighting skills are pretty dismal, I assume you don't know how to dance either. So I'm going to teach you."

Cloud rolled his eyes but took Romans hand anyway. He pulled the young man close, their chests almost touching. Romans left hand rested around his side and clasped his right hand with his own. Suddenly they seemed to be sucked up into a whirlwind. Half the time, cloud tried to mirror Romans expert steps as they turned in time. The other half he couldn't stop staring into Romans eyes. Could this be what love felt like?

They continued twirling around the forest to their silent symphony until they were both out of breath. They slowed to a stop and their hands fell to their sides but still connected.

" you're quite light on your feet cloud. A plus to both dancing a dueling. But practice makes perfect."

Cloud was still in a daze that he couldn't come up with a snarky comment. " I need to return to my father in town. But may I visit you again, possibly tomorrow?"

Cloud shook himself free " of course. My cottage is close to the field where we met. You can meet my parents."

Roman bent and kissed both of his hands. " I will spend every moment missing you until then, my cloud."

Cloud watched as Roman mounted his horse, after opting out of a ride home, he still wasn't used to riding. And stood there until he disappeared into the trees.

Cloud returned home, he stopped at the door, hearing whispers and shushing from the other side. He wondered what his three guardians had been up to in his absence. He pushed open the Dutch doors calling to the quiet house.

" hey guys I'm home. I-" he paused as he closed the door. Something was different. Laying spread out on a chair was a very fancy looking outfit. It was a pair of black trousers, a purple vest and white shirt. Hanging behind it was a deep purple cape with black stitching around the borders.

Next to it was a small cake, he could tell it was BlackBerry- his favorite.

Cloud jumped back as the three fairies all yelled surprise from their place in the kitchen. They came forward to embrace the boy. Cloud had completely forgotten about his birthday. " what have you done?" He said happily appraising the material of the clothes. Certainly the fabric was not cheap.

" it's your sixteenth birthday and we knew we needed to do something extra special." Janus said.

Patton smiled sadly as he pulled out a second chair to have him sit. " Cloud- I mean Virgil, we also did all this because there's something we need to tell you."

Now he was concerned. They usually didn't call him Virgil unless it was very serious. " alright, what is it?"

" well kiddo, what I'm about to say may come as a surprise. It's not the kind of thing one hears every day, and I suppose we should have told you a bit sooner but we wanted..."

" YOU'RE A PRINCE!" Remus blurted out from behind them. The other two whipped their heads to glare at him.

" crashed that carriage, didn't we Remus?" Janus said

" blue was rambling. Better to just rip it off like a wound dressing!" Everyone including Virgil groaned at that imagery.

" wait, so I'm a Prince." He said as if testing the words on his lips.

" yes. You are the only son and heir of his majesty, king Thomas. I know this is all a lot to take in."

Virgil looked back to the outfit. It's grand appearance suddenly making sense. He shook his head laughing to himself " I wonder how he'll take that News"

"Wonder how who'll take that news?" The fairies all asked.

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck." Oh, well, a man happened through the forest where I was, I was practicing my fighting, but only with a stick. He jumps out of the bushes and wants to duel. But he was just playing" now Virgil was rambling trying to push his innocence.

"What else did you do?" Patton asked cautiously.

" He took me on a ride through the woods on his horse, we talked a lot. He also taught me to dance. We spun so much that I'm still a little dizzy" he said with a smile. " he's coming back tomorrow."

Patton recognized the look Virgil had. He had definitely fallen in love with him. Which would make this next part of the conversation harder.

" Virgil..Unfortunately we won't be here after today. We promised to we would bring you back to the castle tonight."

Virgil was upset. " are you sure we couldn't wait until tomorrow so I could explain to him. I'm sure he mind me being a Prince." Janus stepped forward " son, I'm afraid that's not possible. you see A part of being a Prince is that when you were born, you were also betrothed to another Prince from an allied kingdom, Prince-"

Now Virgil was mad " I don't care what his name is. How could anyone force or even expect anyone, let alone a Prince to marry someone they've never met!"

Remus lightly placed his hand on his arm " now cloud-"

Virgil shook him off. " no! You don't get to call me that anymore. You keep this information from me my whole life. Then expect me to be okay with this. I don't know the first thing about being a Prince. I don't want to go." Tears streamed down his cheeks as he fled from the room. Patton Janus and Remus stood around wondering what to do to help their Prince.

PART 3:

#thomas sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders

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thoushaltnottpass · 3 years

Text

War Takes Away Our Humanity

Teaser for Ch1 (basically a trailer.)

Excuse them if they had been a bit surprised at first. One and a half years of quiet had felt too good to be true, but after a few months of being tense and paranoid, people had begun to yearn for tranquility, slowly letting their guard down. Ol' Voldy and his merry band of Death Eaters had all disappeared underground after Harry had challenged their leader to a duel of skill, announcing that Riddle's Horcruxes had been all but demolished, so wizardkind had taken the opportunity to try and regain a semblance of the normality they had had before the war had started.

...

In just a month, Riddle had created utter chaos. His Death Eaters massacred muggleborn families left and right. They burned down the new St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the Albus Dumbledore Home for War Orphans, and the Severus Snape Trauma Center all in one. They overtook the Ministry of Magic once more. Minister Shacklebolt was ruthlessly murdered, as was every Ministry official who stood with him. They were able to destroy the wards around almost half of Wizarding Britain's homes. Hell, the only wards they couldn't take down were ones equal to the ancient family homes, such as Longbottom Hall, Hogwarts, Malfoy Manor, or Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

...

George had broken. He had fallen to his knees in anguish, his tears and promises of revenge never-ending. A day later he had been discovered in his flat's bathroom, blood oozing out of his slit wrists, a moving photograph of him, Angelina, Fred, and some of their other friends at the Yule Ball of 1994 in his hands.

...

In another seven months, over a third of Britain had been demolished. The words You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were gone from everyone's vocabulary; everyone knew very well who. As well as The Dark Lord, fearful whispers on the streets referred to Riddle as the 'Cold One'. There were Death Eater revels almost every week, stated either in Diagon Alley, or various Muggle towns and cities.

...

Despite all of it, Voldemort had not appeared, not once. No-one, wizard or Muggle, had seen him in the flesh and lived to tell the tale. His inner circle members handled most of the revels, raids, and general killings, while he relished in the safety of his hideouts, torturing and/or killing wizards and the occasional muggle. What a way to live.

...

"No, Draco, just keep looking. There's at least another half of this library that we haven't seen. It's all Dark, we're bound to find something."

"Hermione, Harry, please. Just hear me-"

"No, Draco. There has to be another way."

...

"They found Ted Tonks. They're moving in on him, but it'll take them a minute to get through his wards. That's all the time you get before they kill him. Approximately seventy of them. He is there. They expect you to fight, bring as many as possible. High Street, Marlborough. Go, quickly." (A.N: That's a real place. I searched it up- it's in England)

...

Andromeda was the first to fall. She had broken when she had seen the house her husband had resided- and died in, apparently, as the house was now just a pile of ashes surrounded by a lovely fence. Her attention -and shield- wavered just for a second, but that was all that her opponents had needed to take her down. A quick flash of green light, and she had crumpled to the ground, an agonised expression forever on her face. After her, it had been Neville. The brave, yet foolish, man had been battling five Death Eaters by himself -and winning, it seemed- when someone had shot an emerald green jet of light to his back. Seeing him fall had been tragic for all around him, especially Augusta, who had sunk to the ground in despair, clutching her daughter-in-law. Those had been a sad few moments- before Augusta and Hannah had, too, sadly met their ends. Molly Weasley had launched herself into a duel with Bellatrix, and she fought like a vicious lioness. Even lionesses died, however, and that was what had happened to Molly. Percy and Bill, who were briefly distracted from their own duels when her body had tumbled to the floor, had all joined her in the afterlife after being hit by some very Dark curses. Percy had killed Dolohov and jumped in for his mother, grieving but level-headed, though he was no match for the serpent that was Bellatrix. Soon, the only remaining Weasley was Ron, not that he had had much time to register it, as he was battling three very dangerous Dark wix.

...

"My dear Death Eaters, would you look at this," Voldemort drawled in his snake's hiss, drawing out the 's' at the end. "The only members of the Light we have not yet defeated."

...

"Ronald Weasley," Ron looked repulsed at hearing the bald snake say his name. "You could have been great, my dear boy. You could have brought the Prewetts and Weasleys back to their former glory, but you chose not to. You are a disgrace to the pureblood name.”

If anything, Ron looked proud at that.

"Draco Malfoy," he announced, his eyes straying to the blond man. "You are a traitor to our cause, Draco. You didn't think I knew about that measly code, that spelled parchment, those private little Charms lessons? Your mother died as soon as I made her send that Patronus, boy. Your father must be rolling in his grave. Filthy blood-traitor," Draco's mask flickered for a second at the news of his mother's death, but he determinedly put it back into place, strengthening his shields.

The Death Eaters gleefully snickered at the mention of the deceased woman. Bellatrix outright cackled madly. A look from her beloved Lord quietened her immediately.

"Hermione Granger," Hermione looked ready to spit in his face and stomp on his non-nose. "You are the brightest witch of your age. A Mudblood, yes, but bright nonetheless. I would gladly excuse your unfortunate heritage. Join me, my dear, and bask in the praise and glory Lord Voldemort will give you. Join me, and be rewarded greatly," he purred. "Hermione."

"Rot in hell, Riddle," Hermione spat, seeming beyond revolted.

"Very well. And Harry Potter," Riddle sneered. "The Chosen One. The Boy-Who-Lived. The Saviour of the World. Where have you been as the world needed you, Mr Potter? You once took everything from me, Harry. And now," Voldemort smiled a sickening smile, and Hermione's shield faltered. "I shall take all from you." He raised his wand, and a jet of green light rushed toward Harry's best and only female friend.

Hermione didn't panic. Her life didn't flash before her eyes. She just felt numb. She dropped her arm and closed her eyes, ready to meet her fate. But apparently, fate had other ideas. Because she didn't see the black abyss she had thought would absorb her, she didn't feel the spell she thought would hit her, and she didn't die. No, instead, she heard a shout of her name, and as she opened her eyes, she saw a mop of bright, orange hair, followed by a thump on the ground in front of her.

"No!" she cried in sorrow.

...

Ron... Ginny... Molly... Andy...

...

“We have no other choice.”

“Draco-”

“No, Hermione, please listen to me,” Draco pleaded. “If we had another option, I would gladly choose it, but there isn’t another option. Please know that I would never ask you to do this unless it was the only way. But, don’t you see? This isn’t Dark magic, because I’m willing.”

...

“O cara mors vetus noster animos habere pudicos, et nostri bonis magicae. Rogamus te ut nos back: reversusque est in tempore. Obsecro mi mors sanguis nostras quaesumus ut nos salvos et mundo. Mortem, et dabo te in sanguinem et vitam draco malfoy, et in reditu ad nos a vobis et nobis bonum passagium praeterita, ita non potest prohibere mala et beatitudo omnibus!”

...

Tears streaming down their cheeks, they both thrust their knives into his gut. Draco cried out at the unimaginable pain. He slumped to the floor, writhing in agony.

They repeated the words once more as he bled out in front of them.

...

Hermione turned to Harry, and saw that his face was also twisted in pain, as though he could feel what Draco was feeling.

“We're monsters.” she said numbly. “We killed someone pure.”

“This is what war does, Mione,” he muttered numbly. “It takes everything from you until the only thing you have left is your humanity. Then it takes that, too.”

Draco gave one last twitch, one last whimper, before he became still, his pain still on his face. At that very moment, Hermione and Harry stumbled feeling a pull in their stomachs not unlike what one felt mid-Apparition. The wind around them spun quickly in a circle, and the two friends let go of each other's hands.

...

That had been her last thought before she had stopped flying and landed on her two feet; the world went dark, and she slumped to the shining floor of the abyss. And for the first time in a long time, Hermione Granger rested, no bad dreams or dark memories plaguing her. Little did she know, she would have quite the same fright when she woke up.

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