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itsclydebitches · 2 years

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I mentioned in the tags of a recently reblogged post that I had Opinions™ about the “OFMD fandom is racist because they’re interpreting Ed as illiterate” take that’s been gaining traction lately, so I finally decided to slam those opinions into a post. Specifically, I want to list the textual details that made me, personally, come to the conclusion that Ed is (likely) illiterate as a means of pushing back against this growing idea that anyone who crafts meta under that assumption, includes it as a characterization in fics, uses it as a means of theorizing about season two, etc. is automatically coming from a place of racism... rather than, in actuality, a pretty solid canonical interpretation. So some things this post is not includes:

A claim that OFMD/fandom in general isn’t racist in other respects. I’m speaking solely about this one example.

A claim that Ed is definitely, 100%, no room for discussion illiterate. I believe it’s a likely possibility based on what we’ve seen, but the show hasn’t provided confirmation one way or the other.

An attack against any headcanoning. Fans are free to imagine up and/or hope for whatever they like, regardless of how persuasive a reading others find it to be.

Okay, I’m doubting my ability to string this all together with halfway decent transitions right now (the heat is making my brain buzz like TV static), so let’s just stick to a list form.

1. Lucius Establishes That Illiteracy is the Norm in Pirate Culture

First off, OFMD introduces class differences in the pilot episode by having Stede gush about the “full library” he has on board... to his personal scribe... who is writing down his thoughts and adventures purely for vanity’s sake (the fact that they’re later used to save Stede’s life is a separate matter from his intentions here), only to suddenly get hit with the knowledge that no one else on the ship can read.

“That’s not... is that true?” he asks, dumbfounded, and then Stede answers his own question with a rather distasteful scoff. Lucius responds with a look that I can only affectionately caption as, ‘This bitch.’

(I am also once again apologizing for the horrendous ‘screenshots’ taken with my phone.)

All of this is deliberate. We’re setting up the dichotomy of pirate vs. gentry culture, as well as one of Stede’s major flaws. Namely, using the privilege of his upbringing as a crutch/personal safety net (with a side of that arrogant superiority: “Don’t debase yourself for a man who doesn’t even have a tureen on board!”). This is why Oluwande and Jim need to explain that for them, piracy isn’t a fun, midlife crisis and Stede comes to the realization, “I’m not a pirate, I’m an idiot.” Wealth is why he’s able to run from Ed the moment his anxiety gets the better of him, hurting him and Mary in one fell swoop when he shows back up all, ‘I’ve decided to be your husband again the same way I decided to be a pirate. Everyone bow to my whims and the privilege that allows me to enforce them!’ The ability to pay wages and read bedtime stories is what keeps Stede’s mutiny on hold for so long (a sharp contrast to Izzy who has no such luxuries to offer as a way of offsetting his own, difficult personality), Stede’s gentlemanly demeanor (born of a lifetime of social education) is what first draws Ed to him, then it’s his material wealth, and finally Stede giving up his fortune to return with only a dinghy and the clothes on his back is the sign of emotional growth.

Literacy isn’t the only marker of Stede’s privilege—far from it—but it is a major one and it’s important for setting up this contrast that drives much of the character work. Yes, Lucius is technically wrong about being the only other member of the crew who can read, though it’s clear why he came to that conclusion when Jim was pretending to be mute and couldn’t just say, ‘Hey, I can read and write too.’ Beyond that one mistake though, we have no reason to doubt Lucius’ claim. Not when the group is worried about who will continue their bedtime stories if Captain is dead and Lucius sucks at the voices. Don’t we think someone else would have spoken up to solve the dilemma if they could? More importantly, revealing that actually more of/most of the crew can read would severely undermine that thematic work of Stede’s upbringing—and that goes double for the man who represents the pinnacle of pirate culture: Blackbeard himself. We see through our flashback that Ed does not come from a place of privilege, which includes both education and material wealth based on how the show has defined privilege via Stede. Though it’s hardly impossible for Ed to have picked up reading later in life while still grappling with the trauma of growing up poor, for me there’s nothing to indicate that. Far from it: the show goes out of its way to emphasize all the ways in which Ed and Stede contrast one another, with Stede’s privilege—reading included—presented as markers of a life and emotional expression that Ed simultaneously longs for, yet feels that he’s undeserving of.

2. Ed is Shocked By the Amount Stede Has Read

When Ed is presented with Stede’s library he acts like a man who has never had access to so many books before. “Incredible,” he whispers, staring at the shelves in awe.

Except then Ed goes on to specify what exactly he’s in awe of and it’s not the books themselves. “You’ve read all of these?” he asks Stede, the ‘all’ emphasizing his shock that any one man (even in his forties) could have gotten through this many volumes. Ed doesn’t act like someone impressed with the beauty of the library itself—like we might see if he too was a reader and was simply impressed by the pretty bindings—but rather at Stede’s ability to read any library, but particularly one of this size. When Stede says that these are just his favorites, Ed gives a little huff of stunned disbelief. These are not the reactions of a man who frequently keeps books in his own cabin to peruse. Rather, they’re the reactions of someone who hasn’t read much himself, if anything at all.

In addition, Ed doesn’t engage with the text when Stede hands him the book. I’ve seen a couple people say that Ed can clearly read because he knew that was a picture of himself, but really, it’s not a hard thing to deduce. Even if Stede hadn’t led with this being something he thinks Ed will enjoy—AKA, it’s likely something about you—for all the fantasy details of nine guns and snake-like hair, Blackbeard is pretty distinctive in his look. That’s that point. He has long hair, a massive black beard, dresses all in leather, and is depicted with pirate-y things like ships and treasure. You don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out who that’s supposed to be an illustration of. The point though is that there’s a page of text to the left and, more importantly, a big title claiming he’s “The Mad Devil Pyrate Blackbeard,” yet Ed doesn’t take issue with the “mad” or the “devil” part. He jumps straight to looking at the image itself, despite the writing being just as valid a detail to get angry over as the nine guns.

3. Ed Treats The Books He Comes Across as Disposable

Going off of his reaction to Stede’s library, I think it would still be possible to argue that Ed is primarily impressed with the number of books he possesses (another kind of material privilege) if we didn’t see Ed get access to a huge number of books and immediately discard them. In “The Best Revenge is Dressing Well,” they raid the vessel where Stede finds several shelves of books, enough that he also refers to it as a “library.” This tells us then that most ships probably have at least a couple books on board and many, like this one, might have a big selection. So if Ed had wanted a library like Stede’s, he could have easily gotten one. He’s Blackbeard and he’s been looting ships for several decades at this point. The only reason why someone that impressed with Stede’s books would pass off so many opportunities to get his own would be if he doesn’t have a use for them, especially when books don’t carry the same toxic masculinity implications as a cashmere scarf does. Blackbeard, the legend, should be able to read with a safety that he couldn’t, say, dress in a flowery robe and recite poetry. Books are a fairly safe form of expression for a pirate (and entertainment too, something Ed lacks!) yet he doesn’t make use of them.

Instead, the way Ed acts here heavily implies to me that a) he can’t read (or can’t read well) and b) he’s feeling insecure about it. He snaps that this isn’t “how raiding works” when Stede says he’s replacing the books he’s taken with ones he’s already read, despite the fact that Ed has been pretty chill for the rest of the attack and, notably, usually likes Stede’s eccentricities. The most likely reason why he’d suddenly frown at Stede not raiding 'properly’—in a relationship where Stede’s new way of doing things is usually exciting and fascinating to Ed—is if Stede’s book focus is dredging up feelings of inadequacy. Ed opens the book, but flips through it in a way that shows a distinct lack of interest... or an inability to read it. He tosses it aside. Then he slaps the rest of the books out of Lucius’ hands. On its own this interaction might imply that Ed is disdainful of reading in general, but following how enamored he is with Stede’s personal library and his ability to work through it, the scene instead implies illiteracy. Here, Stede is enthusiastic about something Ed can’t share, on an outing where Ed is supposed to be teaching him, so he goes hard on how “raiding works” and makes it clear that books—these useless objects to him—aren’t worth picking up. Drop them and go shove a knife near a guy’s eyeball instead.

4. Ed Signs the Treaty With an ‘X’

I don’t actually have that much to say about this scene (in regards to literacy, anyway), simply because the ‘X’ alone is the big takeaway. I’m sure by now we’ve all seen the tweet claiming that an ‘X’ was used by indigenous people as a form of protest against colonizers and the historical accuracy of that aside (it’s not a discipline I’m at all educated in, but others have pushed back against both OP’s interpretation of the book’s thesis as well as whether this intersects with Māori culture), that’s simply not the most obvious implication here. We know based on interviews that the writers have unintentionally included racial coding in other parts of the show—making the men of color work during Izzy’s brief stint as captain being one of the most well known. That wasn’t meant to be an indicator of racism, just a combination of Nairn having a bad back and dumb luck regarding who was staged to do the work—so this wouldn’t be the first time that fans have come to a very different conclusion than the writers intended. Ultimately, I think it’s FAR more likely that an American writer used a well-known means of conveying illiteracy, as seen throughout American popular culture, in a show that is not at all concerned with historical accuracy... than it is that he included a very subtle, historical allusion to indigenous protest and attached that to a character whose ability to know about that and culturally benefit from it are questionable at best. Though, as said at the start, headcanoning is fantastic and adds a wonderful depth to Ed’s character, from a canonical standpoint this feels like an Occam’s Razor situation to me: the simplest explanation is the most likely.

5. The Show Doesn’t Shy Away From Establishing Who Can and Can’t Read

This is a minor point, but it helps solidify all of the above. We’re told that Stede can read. We’re told that Lucius can read. Again, those are important skills used to separate them from the rest of pirate culture. We learn in a surprise twist that Jim can also read, write, and they’re not actually mute. The show then heavily implies that Izzy can read by a) giving him a voice-over similar to Jim’s (even though we never see what he might be writing in) and b) having him spend time in Stede’s library before the fuckery and then again, this time actually looking through the books (compared to Ed’s disorganized flipping/discarding) and finding an image of Blackbeard all by himself (compared to Stede doing that for Ed). Sure, we could theorize that Izzy just happened to stumble across a book about Blackbeard, maybe because Stede has so many in his collection, and he’s only looking at pictures/pretending to read in the shots where he has a book in hand.. but again, the simplest explanation feels the most persuasive to me. The point being that the show usually makes it very clear who can read and who cannot, with those in the gray area nevertheless leaning hard in one direction. Izzy leans hard into ‘literary.’ Ed does not.

Finally, I want to quickly address a couple of arguments I’ve seen pop up over the last couple of months:

1. The Real Blackbeard was Able to Read (+ You Have to Read to Sail a Ship)

Any and all takes along these lines are immediately suspect in my mind because they’re rooted in historical accuracy... and ignore the fact that OFMD is not historically accurate. At all. The real life Blackbeard did not fall in love with Stede Bonnet. The ship runs on gay sex and story time, not legitimate sailing techniques. Any argument that begins with “But the real Blackbeard...” or “But in real life you have to...” falls flat because this is very much not the real Blackbeard and the plot is in no way bound by realism. I mean, I’m not trying to be a buzzkill. I think it’s fun to play thought games like “What if Ed and Izzy run their ship aground like they did in real life and that becomes a callback to the second episode?” but there’s a difference between fun theorizing about what random events the show might include for the laughs and trying to use historical accuracy as a form of evidence in metas. I mean, Buttons is out here communicating with seagulls and casting hexes so that Calico Jack (presumably) dies via cannonball. When your story is that untethered from reality, any claims based in realism hold little value imo. Ed being able to read because the real Edward Teach could read is no more likely than Ed dying a horrific death at... [checks Wikipedia] hmm. A year after the events of the show start. Should be happening any episode now!

2. Ed is Able to Read Music

Honestly, as someone with a 2,000 book library and no ability to read music, I’m not sure how one relates to the other, but a couple times now I’ve seen people claim that because Ed plays the harpsichord at the party, he must know how to read. Putting aside the strange conflation though, Ed isn’t reading any music here. He plays solely from memory and, given what else we see of his talents, I wouldn’t be surprised if Ed had simply memorized a few shanties over the years. He’s already learned the shape of the clouds. He dutifully repeats Stede’s words after he’s corrected on the scarf’s fabric—“An exquisite cashmere.” Though he hasn’t got it all down yet, Ed is also well on his way to learning all the insane spoons and forks involved in fine dining. The guy’s got a good head for recalling information, which to me is an entirely separate skill from the specific ability to interpret words on a page.

3. Ed Read the Placards During Dinner

Does he though? The scene begins when Ed is already seated at the table and though he does look towards the placard that says he’s Godfrey’s guest, I interpret that more for the audience’s benefit than anything else. After all, Ed is already sitting down. He knows where he’s supposed to be. Why would he need to re-read his own placard? Despite the glance in that direction, it looks like an establishing shot to set the scene. So then how did Ed know where to sit? Idk, any way someone knows where to sit without looking at their placard. Maybe one of the servants showed him. Maybe another party-goer shooed him into his designated seat. Ed acts lost and confused the whole time, looking in random directions and muttering about snail forks. He doesn’t act like someone who chose this spot confidently, nor does he act like someone who can use reading as a skill to assist him in his anxiety. That is, he doesn’t look for and find Stede’s placard to ensure they’re seated together and he doesn’t realize he’s next to the touchy woman until it’s too late.

4. Finally: How Could Ed Have Drawn an ‘X’ If He Doesn’t Know How to Read?

Because an ‘X’ is just two crossed lines that might not have any meaning to him beyond, ‘This is what illiterate people do to sign their name.’ There’s a huge gap between understanding the ‘X’ as a symbol for this particular situation and knowing how to apply it—along with 25 other letters—to read a language. I can draw the Superman ‘S’ (not an ‘S’!), but that doesn’t mean I can read Kryptonian. I can also recite the Spanish alphabet from middle school, but that doesn’t mean I remember how to apply it after years without practice. Humans are really good at tying signified concepts to signs and an ‘X’ isn’t exactly the most difficult sign to memorize. Of course, it’s also possible that Ed knows his letters, but not how to read Stede’s books. Illiteracy isn’t a black and white state of being: Ed may understand the ‘X’ only as a symbol of agreement, or as a letter, or as a part of a couple words. I feel like the fandom is approaching this as an either/or situation—you can read or you can’t—rather than a very complicated skill that takes years to master, with everyone continuing to learn as time goes on. You think I remember every grammatical rule in the English language? Or that I know the meaning of every word I come across? Or even how to pronounce them? You think I can switch to a culture I’m not a part of—an online space, an academic discipline, a friends’ text exchange—and read through it without stumbling on words, acronyms, and concepts I’ve never encountered? Just as there’s a huge range within my literacy, there’s the possibility for an equally huge range within Ed’s illiteracy too. Maybe he can’t read at all. Maybe he can recognize Godfrey’s name after seeing it on the invitation card. Maybe he can only write his name, but chose not to. Maybe he can do all that, but can’t manage the dense text of Stede’s books. Maybe he can read a bit, but can’t manage the fancy script of the gentry. Maybe the vocabulary is an obstacle. Maybe he learned a long time ago and, like my Spanish, has since lost it. There are a lot of options here that would fall under the large umbrella of 'Ed is illiterate.’

All of which is just to say: those of us working with an illiterate Ed in metas, fanfics, and the like didn’t pull that idea out of thin air and we definitely didn’t hit on it because Ed isn’t white. It’s a reading that the show is very much pointing towards and even if it’s proven wrong in season two, that doesn’t erase the strong implications we got at the start.Yes, there’s a lot wrong with fandom—I’d never deny it—but that’s not going to improve if people put their energy towards pushing inaccurate, but very satisfying claims. It’s a lot easier (and makes people feel good about themselves) to make blanket claims about how Ed Not Being White + Illiterate Interpretations = Racism... but that ease and feelings of superiority don’t make it true. Like the discourse over using any shortened version of Oluwande’s name, or the desire to saddle the antagonist (Izzy) and any fans who like him with accusations of racism, the fandom is looking for easy, black and white rules to avoid being #Problematic. But OFMD is too complicated for that—fandom is too complicated for that—and even if it wasn’t, making up nefarious motivations for character interpretations doesn’t achieve a damn thing.

#OFMD #Our Flag Means Death #Edward Teach #mymetas

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childotkw · 3 years

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Hi Jordan!

I loove your fics and I've been following you since a long time! Recently, I've started writing tomarry on ao3 but I've noticed readers don't interact much. Is it because it's a new WIP? I have taken to writing since I've got this muse that won't shut up but it would be nice if readers did comment. Should I post more and wait? Can you please guide me?

Hi, darling!

Reader interaction is a bit of a nebulous space in fanfiction. There is, of course, the idea that with fanfiction, you should write for yourself as much as you write for an audience - and that is something I do believe in. But getting feedback is fun, and incredibly rewarding when it happens, so I do genuinely understand the desire to get that too. And there’s nothing wrong with content creators wanting that validation.

Unfortunately, we tend to live in a world were a lot of readers do just consume and move on to the next piece of entertainment. I understand that struggle too. It can be pretty demoralising when something you put a lot of effort and thought into doesn’t get the reception you want.

Now, I can’t give specifics for your situation since I don’t know much - but I will say that newness is almost definitely a factor. Gaining an audience and loyalty from readers is an uphill battle, and it does take time to generate the type of feedback that you want. I have no doubt that once you get going and the story builds traction then you will start to collect more and more comments.

I wouldn’t say you should wait for the flood to come. If writing the work makes you happy, then I think you should update as you like. It’s almost a ‘if you build it, they will come’ sort of scenario, which is frustrating but kind of how the system operates.

Some ways that you can try and get a bit more reader interaction is to:

1) Have a platform. Whether it’s Tumblr, or Twitter, or a blog of some sort, having a space where you can interact with your followers outside of AO3 will help you to build a more personal relationship with them. It makes you seem a bit more human and approachable, and makes your readers feel more comfortable - and more likely to leave you feedback because they see you as a person, rather than some distant entity in some faraway corner of the world mindlessly producing content. Include links at the end of your chapters and encourage readers to drop by.

2) Ask outright. Sometimes having a little prompt at the bottom of your chapter asking readers what they thought of ABC in your story can be a good way to gently remind readers to leave some feedback. Even something as simple as: “Leave a comment on your way out!” or “What do you guys think will happen with XYZ?” can get some people to drop a review.

3) Be memorable / personable. This could be entirely up to you - but some authors put little fun facts or quizzes or questions in their notes to try and hook some people. It’s a cute way of drawing readers in - getting them to interact with you.

4) Do challenges. This is just a way to get exposure, but you could do a writing challenge, or a gift, or something along those lines. Those challenges tend to get a bit of traffic, so it’s a good way to get your name out and get people interested in what you’re doing.

5) Keep writing. Like I mentioned earlier on, the more you write, the more you will widen your net. If you look at it like fishing, casting a wider net will get you a bigger audience. Bigger audience = more chances of comments and reader interaction.

Sorry, I’m a bit tired at the moment 😅 and this is all I can kind of think of at the moment, but hopefully something in here can help you in some way? Just remember to keep your head up and keep working at it. You’ll get your reward!

#anonymous #Writing tips

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nobodyfamousposts · 5 years

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Felix July - Enemies to Lovers Demon Felix AU

Felix was not a nice person. Or even a good person. Or even a person at all.

It kind of came with being a demon. And Felix WAS one of the best, thank you very much. It was part of the reason why he was one of the demons at the top of the list to contract with. Felix did his job and he did it quite well, giving people what they wanted and reaping their souls afterwards.

Over the centuries, he had played all sorts of roles to cater to the whims of whomever was foolish or desperate enough to call upon him. Whether servant, guard, or subordinate, he played whatever part they wanted of him and he played it well—often so well that the fools would mistakenly think he was truly their ally when their end finally came and he finally took his payment.

He wouldn’t say he relished in their cries of dismay or betrayal.

He just thought it was amusing.

Felix was a DEMON. He had a job. He did the job. And he took great pride in it. Even if business had been slow over the centuries.

Early on, things were…well, not easy, but certainly plentiful. People would call upon him for the standard three wishes, generally wanting power, wealth, or revenge—he rather liked that last one, he was at least able to get creative with it. But with the increasing antics of the various religions and the whole atheism belief gaining traction, not many people actually subscribed to the old ways of demon summoning to get their wishes.

So when he had been summoned for the first time after a good few decades, he was actually somewhat impressed.

Then he met his would be contractor, and he was decidedly LESS impressed.

Lila Rossi.

A preteen at this point. She had all the makings of a future serial black widow. Sociable. Perceptive. Manipulative. And a complete disregard for others. Even early on, she had a way of drawing people to her like moths to a flame that was only all too happy to set them alight. It would have been interesting to see, if anything.

But she was lazy. And impatient.

So she summoned him to make things easier for her.

He’d give her credit that she at least knew what she was doing. When she made her wishes, she made sure to word them in such a way so as to get exactly what she wanted. Not that he would have twisted her wishes the way she feared. He had pride in his work after all. Not to mention his reputation. After all, word spread easily and no one was going to call on an entity for anything if he was known for screwing them out of it.

No. Felix gave them exactly what they wanted. How things worked out from there was entirely on them.

He just sat back and watched the fallout.

“Mistress Rossi”, as she preferred he call her, thought she was so smart. She had her wishes already written out before she’d gone about summoning him. She worked them precisely to make sure what she wanted would be exactly what she got, and even more than he technically should have given per wish.

Two wishes in and she had it all. Youth and beauty. Charm and charisma. An automatic positive perception in the eyes of others. The ability to lie and fool without anyone doubting her.

By the end of it, she was able to keep people almost enthralled by her, obeying her every whim and taking her every word without question. She could have told anyone anything she wanted and they would believe her. Honestly, it took the fun out of things. What was the point if she didn’t even have to work for it?

Well, Rossi liked it well enough, so that was what she got. And the only stipulation was that the illusion wouldn’t hold on anyone who knew with absolute certainty that what she was saying couldn’t be true.

Like, say…lying about being Ladybug’s best friend in a way she could easily be discovered by the girl who just happened to be the civilian identity of the superhero in question.

If he cared or felt even the least bit of sympathy for her, Felix would have laughed aloud at her idiocy. First off, that she would openly lie about knowing a superhero in the ONE place the superhero would likely hear about it. And two, that she wouldn’t catch on that the one girl who DIDN’T fall for any of her lies could only be said superhero.

It was some amusement, at least. Not that he was going to tell her.

He never told any of his past contractors when they were being foolish, after all.

He just watched with hidden amusement as Rossi first hid away in her home for months on end wasting her days complaining about Ladybug and then after her return to the school would waste her days complaining about the hero’s civilian self. Letting her spite and hatred of both fester and grow to the point she was nearly inclined to turn to Felix to “deal” with them. After all, her enemies were technically his enemies as well for as long as his contract lasted.

She instead took to trying to ruin the two girls/one girl with two masks on her own. Telling lies to exaggerate her importance to others. Playing the innocent victim in any circumstance. Slowly trying to poison the girl’s friends against her. Helping a known terrorist to try to murder a superhero and take over the city.

And for the most part, it was working. With the powers her wishes had gotten her, every plot she made seemed to work out in her favor. Her enemy was struggling to hold on while Rossi was living the high life.

But with two wishes in and only one to go, Rossi suddenly realized just how precarious her situation was. When she thought he wasn’t present—how stupid, of course he was always there—she spent her time trying to somehow weasel her way out of the deal.

He didn’t try to stop her. She hadn’t been the first to suddenly try to back out of the contract once it was made and two of the wishes granted. There was little about Rossi that showed she would turn out any differently.

And really, it was his power. His rules. He was the one to decide what was acceptable and how to apply his own magic with each wish.

So finally, the day came after a particularly frustrating clash with the civilian side of her “enemy” (which he didn’t fully understand the point of continuing to call her as such, given how many times Ladybug had rescued her by this point). Rossi barely caught herself from saying the words to make her third wish and end the contract.

A pity, but he’d known it wouldn’t be that easy.

Except then it was. Because her own almost-wish gave Rossi a particularly interesting idea.

It was likely his own fault. He had let her push the limits of her wishes before. Clearly she had the mistaken belief that SHE was the one to decide how the wishes worked.

And so, she thought she could make THIS work, too.

She spun on her heel and turned to him in a grand flourish.

“Felix!”

He didn’t roll his eyes, as much as he wanted to at the display. Rossi still thought him docile and obedient to her. He doubted she even considered if she was seeing his true personality.

“Yes, Mistress Rossi?” He asked, dutifully.

“I have my third wish!” She said with glee.

“Of course, Mistress Rossi.” He said with a small bow.

“I wish for you to transfer my contract to Marinette Dupain-Cheng and take her soul instead of my own.”

It was probably the first bit of surprise he’d shown her since she summoned him. Likely even the first he’d physically shown in a century.

This girl—this arrogant self-centered witch of a girl was literally trying to lay a claim to another person’s soul and trade it for her own. Sacrifice another person’s life and soul in a contract SHE made with a demon SHE summoned—one she had to have bet her soul on in the first place to even accomplish. Trying to save herself by arguably stealing the soul of an innocent person—not just an innocent, but a hero…by all counts a saint even.

And of all things, the little brat actually thought she could get away with it!

He could have laughed.

He wanted to laugh.

But Felix…

Felix merely bowed at her request.

“Very well, Miss Rossi.”

And promptly vanished from her sight, leaving a smirking and all too satisfied Rossi alone in her room.

In all honesty, he should have ended things there. Considered the contract complete based on the prior wishes. Or at least just told Rossi he couldn’t fulfill those terms.

Technically, it shouldn’t have been allowed.

Technically, it had only never been done before.

But Rossi did it, fully thinking it would save her own skin and remove an enemy. Two birds with one stone.

So he let her think that and went along with her little attempt to pass the buck onto someone else. More out of amusement than anything. She had to be a fool to think she could really trade another person’s soul so easily?

Of course, Felix could find a way to make this work in his favor. After all, every person who made a contract got three wishes before the contract was closed and the soul was forfeit. And one Miss Ladybug ne Dupain-Cheng had a very vehement attitude towards now Miss Rossi.

She despised the liar. Likely as much as Rossi despised her, albeit with more justifiable reasoning. It would be simple enough to have her wish some misfortune on Rossi and then he would have her anyway.

And besides, how could he say no when offered a free opportunity to add to his collection? Dupain-Cheng’s soul was a rarity, one he could sense regardless of the distance. What other chance would he have to get one like that?

He should thank Miss Rossi. By the end of all this, he would have two souls for the effort of one.

Yes, he thought with a feral grin. This would be all too easy.

Needless to say, it turned out to not be that easy at all…

#ml fic #ml felix #demon felix #lila sucks #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #not going to be that easy #felix no #felix don't #contracts do not work this way

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justjessame · 3 years

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Glorious, Before the Burden - The Comfort ~ 9

I was in my rooms, Sif had gone off to check in with her trio of Warrior friends - having assured me that Hogun was also among our people that had greeted Thor’s arrival home - resting and hoping that Loki and Thor would return while it was still early enough for my worry to stay firmly at bay.

Sitting in a chair by the fireplace - empty of a fire since I was far too warm to make one necessary - with a book in hand and my hand cradling the gentle curve of my stomach, I felt it when the Bifrost flashed to life. Humming, I whispered to the soft nudging of the little one inside of me that their father was home, but as I stood a chill that felt NOTHING like the comforting one that came when Loki was near danced down my spine.

The shadow, the cloud, the darkness that had been hovering over the images and warnings I’d been seeing - were gone. Gone because she was here. How I knew her name, how I knew who she was - it was the same answer as how I knew what she signaled was on the horizon - magic and power. MY magic and power. Still growing and evolving, and sadly still lacking and behind when I needed it to speed up.

Hela. Odin’s TRUE daughter. His first born. And the goddess of Death, as she fancied herself.

“SIGYN,” Sif’s voice, from outside my door alerts me, and I rise from my chair. Calling out for her to enter, she does and seeing me safe and secure, she gives me the news and tells me of the plans - since only she and Hogun remain. Two of four Warriors - Thor and Loki have not returned.

“How precisely do you plan to keep her from breaching the -” my hand falls to the clear evidence of the heir. “Sif, if this fails -”

Her dark eyes meet mine and she nods. “I know, Sigyn, my queen.” She isn’t simply fearful because of my title or role, Sif and I have known one another since we were children. While she did not stay in Frigga’s care, she and I were not enemies. “If the worst seems to be on the horizon,” she let out a long breath. “We will find a way to get you to safety. I vow it.”

It didn’t take long - nowhere near long enough for me to prepare for it - for Hela to gain traction and footing for her to close in on the kingdom proper and the army that Hogun managed to raise. Sif wanted me to stay safe behind the walls, in my rooms, or better still cloaked further and tucked where no one could find me at all, but I refused.

“I AM Queen, Sif,” unwanted burden that the title was, without Loki beside me, without Thor hovering close at hand, and Valhalla knows that it shocked me to my core to think it, but without Odin’s clarity and confidence near the heaviness was almost too much to keep my spine straight. Yet, with my head high and my chin raised, I left my rooms and the safety that Sif and everyone would have me stay in - for even the Asgardian people were fearful of this NEW entity - more so than the IDEA of Loki as King and I as their Queen.

Sif was at my right, my pair of guards taking their new places since she’d joined them in guarding me, and together we went out to greet Odin’s firstborn.

We arrived as she did, and I came up short - was it simply my eyes betraying me or did she bear a startling resemblance to Loki? Sif’s gasp gave me strength and also assured me that I hadn’t gone mad, not yet at least.

“It's come to my attention that you don't know who I am. I am Hela, Odin's firstborn, commander of the legions of Asgard, the rightful heir to the throne and the Goddess of Death. My father is dead, as are the princes.” I saw the flinching, the eyes darting to where I stood opposite Hela, the full ripeness of my belly showing that NOT all heirs were dead. This being wasn’t omnipotent at least. “You're welcome. We were once the seat of absolute power in the cosmos. Our supremacy was unchallenged. Yet Odin stopped at the Nine Realms. Our destiny is to rule over all others. And I am here to restore that power. Kneel before me and rise into the ranks of my great conquest.”

Hogun, careful not to draw attention to me, rose to challenge her. “Whoever you are... whatever you've done, surrender now! Or we will show you no mercy.” I watched as her face showed clearly how put out she was by his lack of immediate obedience and yield to her orders.

Before she could speak, however, I did. “I believe you are under the ignorant presumption that Asgard is without a ruler, Hela.” Her eyes snapped to me, to my entire bearing and particularly to my very obvious state of maternity. “You were Odin’s first born daughter, I have no doubts, but -” my smile grew as I stared into her face. “I AM his lastborn.” Her eyes narrowed. “Married to Loki, carrying the heir to the throne, and I can well assure YOU and OUR people that the princes are most certainly NOT dead.”

“Can you now?” She looked across the space that separated us. “And how can you be so certain -” she was at a loss, I knew HER name, but MY name was completely foreign to her.

“SIGYN,” I offered, “My name is Queen Sigyn, Hela, and I know that they live because -”

I never had a chance to finish - not because she attacked, although I could sense it was coming - her ire was as clear as the sun shining behind her. No I didn’t finish because like a flash I was gone, pulled completely away from Asgard, Sif, my people and everything I knew and loved. In a flash - and then darkness - nothing.

#loki #loki x sigyn #loki series #sigyn #alternate universe #pregnancy

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idontknowwhatsarcasmis · 4 years

Text

Old Acquaintances Made Anew

A Morriana fanfic

Hellooooo!! And I’m back in the DA fandom! Hope you’re all keeping safe and reading and writing loads in this quarantine! Stay at home guys! ^^

I started writing this story… sooo many years ago I don’t even remember! Anyways, I know this has been written many many times, buut I wanted to present my take on these two lovely ladies meeting in Halamshiral. I do hope you guys like it, cause I am really proud of it and had quite a bit of fun writing it!

Also, I have already started a second chapter, on Morrigan’s POV back in Skyhold after this, but wanted to see if you guys liked the idea first!

So, do let me know yeah?

As aaaaaalways, thank you brother for beta-reading it ^^

Enjoy!

Ao3

Ff.net

Xxxx

“A distraction would help.” Ellana said, biting her lower lip.

“What kind of distraction? There are plenty of them around here.” Cullen said, looking around in displeasure.

Leliana held back a smile at that, and saw both Ellana and Josie doing the same. The Inquisitor shook her head however.

“No, no. It needs to be something bigger. That’d draw most people’s attention.” She paused and looked at her other two advisors to see if they had any ideas.

Leliana started considering what she could let slip to whom that might entice a duel, but didn’t manage to get far before she was interrupted.

“Oh!” Josie suddenly said. “I think I know what can happen.” She seemed excited (and… scared?) as she looked at Leliana.

Leliana narrowed her eyes slightly.

“Yes?”

“Well, it would positively draw everyone’s attention, and might even leave them quite a bit distracted afterwards.” She said, looking away while biting her lip.

“Josie…” Leliana’s voice was a warning.

“I’m listening.” Ellana said.

“Well,” Josie started, slow at first but gaining traction as she spoke. “As we’ve told you, Your Worship, everyone was staring at you and Lady Florienne while the two of you danced. Another high member of the Orlesian society and a high member of the Inquisition dancing once more might do the same.” She completed, almost casually. So casually, that it made Leliana freeze in place.

She couldn’t possibly mean-

“That’s an excellent idea, Josephine!” Ellana exclaimed excitedly, looking around the room, as if trying to find who could be the centre of attention. “Did you have anyone in mind? I think the only people here that know how to dance properly would be Vivienne, Cass and Dorian, aside from the three of you. Vivienne would not be a novelty really. And I was thinking of taking the other two with me… besides, I think either might do more harm than good down there.” She said with a small frown on her face, likely imagining Cassandra or Dorian insulting someone beyond repair while sharing a dance.

Which, Leliana mused, was very probable.

Still, she was quite sure that they were not who Josephine had in mind.

“Actually, Inquisitor. I did have two people in mind.” The ambassador started and paused to bit her lower lip, eyes darting quickly between Leliana and the Inquisitor.

“Oh?” She asked, eyes also finding Leliana. Less subtly.

“Speak your mind, Josie.” Leliana said. She had a good idea of whom Josephine wanted her to dance with. As much as she loathed to admit, the idea actually did have merit. Getting it to work would be another matter entirely, however.

Then again, 10 years was a long time…

“Well, it so happens that we have two veterans of the Fifth Blight here tonight. One of our own, and one of the Orlesian society.

Ellena looked confused as understanding dawned on Cullen’s face, his eyes now also focused on Leliana.

“Two?”

“I’ve told you I’d had dealings with her on the past, Inquisitor.” Leliana said, barely moving her lips.

“Deal with wh-Morrigan?!” She exclaimed a bit too loudly, and flinched at the look Leliana and Josie gave her. “Sorry. Morrigan? You know Morrigan from the Blight?” She asked in a hushed, excited whisper.

“Yes, we were both companions of the Hero of Ferelden. We fought side by side for many months.” Leliana said, her voice as if of its own accord taking a story telling intonation as she scanned the room, looking for red velvet.

As she focused back on Lavellan, however, she couldn’t suppress a small smile. The Inquisitor was always very excited to hear more about her time with Mahariel.. Lavellan probably heard a lot about her before in her clan, but it was different to have a first-hand account. It was not often, Leliana thought, that a Dalish elf was at the centre of history. Well, at the positive centre of history.

“You did?” Ellana looked like she was about to ask more when Josie cleared her throat, looking at her pointedly. “I-I mean, that is wonderful, though! Surely a dance between you two would draw everyone’s attention! I mean, I wish I could see it…” She mumbled the last part, and the three advisors smiled softly at her.

“While a good idea in theory, I am unsure if it’ll work in practice. Morrigan and I haven’t spoken since the Archdemon was slain. Even then, we never talked much. She… was rather reclusive. Mahariel was the only one she would actively speak with.” Leliana said, eyes once again sweeping the room in search for the witch. “Also, as far as I know, she never cared for dancing, either.”

Josephine tsked at that.

“Really Leliana, that was years ago. She’s been at court long enough to have picked up some steps. Celene would not suffer any member of her court to not know the basics, at least!” Josephine said ,and Leliana conceded her point. “Besides, as you said, you haven’t seen each other for a decade! I doubt Morrigan would not want to catch up.”

Leliana raised an eyebrow at that, face blank.

“W-well, she wouldn’t dare reject the Seneschal of the Inquisition in front of all these people? We are honoured guests!” She tried again.

Leliana maintained her expression. The Morrigan she remembered would have no qualms whatsoever about doing exactly that.

Josephine was suddenly looking very uncertain, and was about to say something when Ellana interceded.

“Well, I think she might surprise you, Leliana! When I talked to her before she seemed perfectly polite. Celene will likely be watching you two, so she won’t have to be concerned about any murder attempts during the dance, and I really need this distraction. I might be gone longer than before this time.” she said with a small, hopeful smile, and Leliana felt her icy heart melt a little. Ellana reminded her so much of Mahariel sometimes.

She so missed her dear friend.

Rolling her eyes, Leliana let out a small sigh.

“Well, time is of the essence, no?” She said, glaringat the whoop and smiles she received from her companions. “Wait for her to take my hand, if she does, before vanishing. You two” she said to Josephine and Cullen, “go to different corners of the room and look pointedly at the dancing floor once I, hopefully, get there. We want to attract as many people as possible. Ask one of the servants to spread word.” Leliana instructed as she started to push and pull at her uniform, trying to make it look more proper.

Stupid, ridiculous uniforms. Presenting a united front was one thing. Wearing this? It was an outrage. It’d help her play her part when asking Morrigan for a dance, however, so at least that.

The others nodded in agreemnt, and Cullen and Lavellan moved away to play their parts. Josephine, however, stayed behind. Leliana raised an eyebrow.

“Are you alright?” She asked, barely moving her lips.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Leliana felt her brow furrowing.

“Well, you seem nervous.”

“I…” Sometimes she forgot that Josephine knew her from before she had been the Left Hand. “It’s nothing, Josie, don’t worry. Go, time is of the essence.” She said, with a small smile. With a quick squeeze of her hand, Josephine motioned to the main balcony with her chin, before she made her way across the ballroom to the opposite side.

Slowly, Leliana looked to where Josephine had pointed. Right there, by the Empress’ side.

Leliana closed her hand into a fist. Was she nervous? Why, by Andraste’s name, was she nervous?

Visions of lingering glances flashed before her eyes. Words that were, day by day, week by week, less and less cutting and more and more teasing. Fond.

Taking a fortifying breath, Leliana minutely shook her head to focus, and started walking towards her target. She made sure her steps seemed casual, but wide enough to draw attention at the same time. People needed to be watching her as she approached the other woman.

When she was but a few steps away, Leliana finally was able to actually admire the ensemble Morrigan was wearing. The sight almost made her step falter. Red velvet. Gold details. Low on the front. Another vision entered her mind, one that almost made her skip a step. Maker’s breath. What was Morrigan playing at?

Another step made her come close enough to the Empress and her advisor to call the attention of those nearby. As the two women turned to look at her, something flashed in Morrigan’s eyes.

Time for a trip down memory lane.

“Your Majesty, my Lady.” She said in a clear and (appropriately) loud voice, taking a deep bow.

“Sister Nightingale!” Celene exclaimed, nodding her head and giving her a large and warm smile. Out of the corner of her eyes, Leliana saw Morrigan giving her a small courtesy, and her lips twitched upwards. “What a pleasure to have you at court once more. It has been quite a while.”

Leliana allowed her smile to become larger.

“Too long, your Majesty. I’m afraid my duties have kept me away for longer than I wished.” She said, making sure her voice sounded just the right amount of sad, as if she were trying to hide it.

“’Tis all for a good cause, I hear. With your Inquisition, now.”

The voice washed over her like the first ray of sunshine on a cold winter’s day. An inexplicable tingling sensation spread from the tip of her fingers to the other.

All of which Leliana promptly ignored.

Morrigan’s voice hadn’t changed much. The same tilt. The same way of saying ‘tis’. The same tone that tried to impress on you that she knew much more than what she was actually saying. Leliana felt her smile become that bit more genuine as she directed her gaze to her old companion.

“Indeed. Being the seneschal to the Inquisition is a very busy job, but one I take to proudly.” Leliana said.

“I’m sure.”

Their eyes lingered on one another, but Leliana could not for the life of her figure out what was on the witch’s mind.

“Oh, allow me to introduce you-” Celene started, only to be interrupted by Morrigan.

“There is no need, Your Majesty. Sister Nightingale and I have known each other for many, many years.” Morrigan’s voice carried like velvet around Leliana, just like it had all those years ago. Her tone as she said her title, though, made Leliana want to wipe that smirk off her face.

Leliana could feel more and more eyes being drawn to them as the witch took a small step closer in her direction.“Indeed, your Majesty. There was a time when we travelled together. When we fought side by side with the Hero of Ferelden to defeat the Blight.” Leliana said, letting her old bard training take over as she turned to look back at the Empress. “Alas, circumstances made it so that our paths were separated shortly after we emerged victorious. Your magnificent ball, however, has presented me with an opportunity I have long since waited for.” Leliana let a happy and grateful smile grace her lips as Morrigan’s eyes almost imperceptibly narrowed.

“I’m very happy to hear that, sister. What opportunity have I unwittingly given you?” Celene asked.

“To make an old acquaintance anew. If you’d allow me, Your Majesty, I’d beg you to let me take your advisor from your side for one dance. It has been many years, and I find myself wanting to not let this opportunity go to waste. You’ll be able to keep your eyes on her all the time, of course..”

The fact that that line did not taste at all like a lie on her tongue was something that Leliana would stash away for later analysis.

Celene laughed, delighted. “Oh, but I would love to see such an event! As much as I’ve been trying to impart on Morrigan the importance of enjoying oneself on the dance floor, I have yet to succeed. Perhaps you’ll fare better than I did.” With that, their whole entourage focused on Morrigan, whose eyes had not left Leliana and were by now more perceptively narrowed. To her surprise, however, Leliana did not see anger there. What she saw exactly, she wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t anger. Nor disgust.

Clearing her throat for effect, Leliana extended her hand and gave a bow, eyes never leaving the witch’s.

“Well then, will you do me the honour of this dance, Lady Morrigan?”

Leliana more felt than saw that most of the eyes in the ballroom were on her hand at the moment. If this was a few years ago, she’d be exhilarated… as it was, she was rather glad for the gloves on her hand that’d certainly prevent Morrigan (should she actually take her hand) from feeling just how nervous she really was.

Which was ridiculous. 10 years. She was hardly the same ‘girl’ she’d been last time they’d seen each other. And yet here she was, as enticed as she had been back then with the mysterious Witch of the Wilds. As nervous as she’d been the first time they’d been left alone at camp. The first time Leliana realised that she had developed quite the crush on the younger woman.

But it had been 10 years. Lingering looks and teasing words had long since been lost to time. It was ridiculous to still be feeling this way.

“Well,” Morrigan smiled. A small smile, for sure, but clear for everyone to see, and if Leliana was not very much mistaken (or counting too much on wishful thinking), quite the genuine one. “If I must.” She said in her usual brusque manner, making all those around them chuckle and Leliana’s smile reach her eyes. As their hands touched and Leliana straightened, her heart did double time, and she had to fight to keep a blush from rising to her face.

“Shall we, then?”

“I did just accept, did I not?”

“Indeed, you did.” Morrigan did. Which in and off itself was sign enough that Leliana was far too out of her game and need to get back to it

“Well, by your leave then, Your Majesty.” Morrigan said, exaggerating on her excitement for appearances’ sake, taking back control over her emotions.

“Oh yes, this is delightful! Go ahead!” The monarch clapped her hands, drawing even more attention as she went towards the balustrade to look down at the dance floor.

Taking a small, fortifying breath, Leliana started making their way down the stairs, Morrigan’s fingers gently clasped on her own.

Soon after they took the first few steps, Morrigan broke their silence. Morrigan did. Which in and off itself was sign enough that Leliana was far too out of her game and need to get back to it

“So, I assume you’ll be the one leading?”

Leliana almost laughed at that, but stopped herself just in time, letting only a smirk spread on her face.

“Well, I was planning to. If that’s agreeable to you, my lady?” She asked casually.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

She could just feel her rolling her eyes at that, even if Morrigan had apparently learned to keep herself from actually going through with the motions in open view.

“The whole point of going to the damned dancefloor, aside from drawing attention to us, is that so no one can hear us. Stop the court talk.”

Leliana did laugh then.

By now they had reached the centre of the dancing floor, and Morrigan stopped right in front of her.

“How should I talk then?”

“We’re in a ball in Halamshiral! How many times have I heard you screeching about these situations?”

Leliana chuckled at that as she placed her free hand on Morrigan’s waist, the other grasping Morrigan’s more firmly.

“You want me to screech?”

“Of course not! But it is unusual to see you not making a single comment about everyone else’s clothes.”Morrigan said, placing her hand on Leliana’s shoulder, closer to her neck than one normally would.

Leliana masked her dry swallowing by giving the witch in front of her a once over, a playful smile coming up on her lips.

“I could start that right now with your dress, if you’d like.”

“Never mind then.” Was her immediate answer, though Leliana felt Morrigan relaxing at that. Humming satisfied, she let herself join in her calm as they started the first slow, easy steps of the song.

“’I’d sooner let Alistair dress me’, I believe were your actual words.” She laughed as she picked up their pace slightly.

“I really didn’t mean what I said before. Go back to being your weird formal self.” Morrigan quipped, making sure to place a scowl on her face. She couldn’t fool Leliana though; she’d been on the receiving end of her real scowls far too many times to not be able to recognize them.

“I did describe these exact details for your clothes, no? 10 years ago! Did you keep me in mind during all these years? Did you miss me that much as well, my dear Lady Morrigan?” She wasn’t even trying to mask the tone of her voice, and barely even realized what she’d let slip.

Despite what Leliana had told the Inquisitor earlier about masks and playing a part, she’d been right; Leliana had felt more like herself here than she had in years, and even more now, with Morrigan in her hands.

It couldn’t be helped, she supposed; she brought her memories from other times… happier ones, perhaps, even with the Blight. That year travelling with the wardens and their merry little band had been the best year of her life.

“Blast and damnation, Leliana. Go back to making small talk. ‘Tis a better use of your time and mine.”

Leliana openly laughed at that, heart beating as fast as it ever had, throwing Morrigan on a little spin before bringing her back.

“That’s the first time you’ve said my name to me. Ever, I think…”

If Leliana wasn’t paying so much attention to their steps, they’d be both on the floor then and there. As it were, she managed to plunge them in the classic and very dramatic swing dip. By the gasps and coos from all around them, she had managed to do so successfully, and they had indeed managed to gather quite a lot of attention.

“Careful now, Morrigan. We wouldn’t want you to crease your pretty dress, yes?” She asked, and there it was; that famous glare that she so fondly remembered. Though it did lack the actual ill intentions behind it.

A very hard pinch on her neck made her quickly pull Morrigan out of the dip. She picked up the pace, making Morrigan work to keep up as she went for some of the more daring manoeuvres.

“I’m surprised that all your time away from the court didn’t make you lose your touch at dancing, Sister Nightingale.”

“I’m surprised you’ve acquired such skills at all, Arcane Advisor.”

She was sure Morrigan would have shrugged had they been doing anything else.

“One does what one must to survive.”

“Indeed.”

Their words went silent for a few seconds as they spun faster and faster around the dance, the only sound coming from their mouths being a slight panting.

“How’s Kieran?”

Something fiercely protective flashed through Morrigan’s eyes at that.

“I hope he adapted well to the court?” She continued quickly, watching as Morrigan relaxed once more.

“Yes, though he did prefer to have a wee bit more freedom. ‘Tis fine though, he’s doing well.” She said softly as Leliana spun her. Morrigan didn’t need to ask her how she knew of her child. She certainly assumed that Mahariel had told her, and that the name had been learned by spies. Which was true.

“Anything on Mahariel?” Morrigan asked, as if reading her mind (she used to be quite good at that).

“Not for a few months now. You?”

“Not for a few years.”

As the song drew to a close, Leliana smirked once more.

“You ready for the grand finale?”

Morrigan’s eyes narrowed at her.

“What are you planning, bard?

Instead of answering, Leliana quickened up her pace, twirling Morrigan under her arm, spinning her away and then back in to finish with a low and daring dip, following after her so close that their faces were just a scant inch apart, right as the song finished and a truly thunderous applause started.

“Now, that wasn’t too bad, yes?”

“I hate you, bard.”

“Not yet, you don’t.”

“Wh-“

Before Morrigan could finish her phrase, Leliana, in a show of courage and impulse that she could simply not explain, closed even more the distance between their faces and pressed a very deliberate kiss on the other woman’s cheek, right in the corner of her lips.

Not wanting to give her a chance to recover and kill her on the spot, Leliana pulled them back to their standing position, taking one step back for a small bow. Morrigan automatically answered, before lightly, very lightly, taking back her hand and directing them to the stairs, under the sounds of animated and awed conversation. On any other circumstance, Leliana might have allowed herself to be quite proud.

As it was… well.

The silence remained between them until they were halfway through the stairs, and Leliana had started to seriously doubt herself. Her hands, which had begun to dry, were going back to being quite clammy.

“You’re ridiculous, Leliana.”

The spymaster could have laughed with relief at that.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, my dear Morrigan!” She said, smirking as she saw the other woman actually rolling her eyes. “Also, second time.”

Her hand being crushed was quite worth the exhilarating feeling she was experiencing at the moment. It had been far too long since she’d felt this alive.

As they reached the top of the stairs, they made a show of bowing and speaking rather loudly.

“Thank you for gracing me with your company for this dance and for the riveting conversation, Lady Morrigan. It was indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance once more.” Leliana said, daring to bring the other woman’s hand to her lips for a brief kiss, barely touching her skin.

Morrigan’s eyes rolled again, a cross between an amused smile and a scowl on her face.

“The pleasure was all mine, Seneschal. It was good to converse with you once more. ‘Twas good fortune that fate brought us together once more.”

“May it not be the last time, my Lady.”

With a small smile for an answer, both of them turned away at the same time. But before Leliana could take more than one step, the witch spoke once more.

“I did, you know?”

Leliana stopped, turning around only partially. Morrigan was looking at Celene.

“Pardon?”

“Miss you too.”

Leliana froze, mind completely blank as she watched the witch make her way back to the empress.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, half hidden by the column behind her, rethinking everything that had been said on the dance floor.

Before long, what felt like a distant voice brought her out of her own mind.

A very, very excited voice.

“Leliana, that was amazing!” Josie somehow managed to sneak up behind her, Cullen right by her side. “Every single eye on this palace was on you! People actually rushed from other rooms for this!”

“They really did. Some of the guards even left their posts for it.” Cullen said, a small smile on his face.

Well, Leliana supposed, still utterly distracted, mission accomplished.

Now what?

Xxxx

Mission accomplished on all accounts, apparently. Lavellan had performed admirably, and pulled off something Leliana was not sure could ever actually happen. Brialla and Celene governing together was quite something. She allowed herself a small smile; Mahariel would have been proud.

She sighed as she overlooked the gardens, allowing herself to relax a little. Everyone was actually enjoying themselves on the ballroom now since all the mess was done with.

Light steps sounded behind her, but just a she began to tense up, she felt it. The smell of magic. Of wood, fire and wilderness that seemed to still be with her even after all these years away.

Morrigan.

Her heartbeat doubled again, but instead of nervousness, she felt light. Relaxed, even. Happy that she’d been reached out to.

“And here we are once more. Following a Dalish elf in events that shall change and shape the world.” Morrigan said.

“We also have a qunari, a dwarf, another elf, and a warden.” Leliana let an amused smile play on her lips as she leaned her hip against the balustrade, half turning to face Morrigan as the witch came to stand by her side. Rather closer than necessary, but Leliana would certainly not complain.

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. “And from what I heard, you also have an older mage that thinks she knows better than everyone else.”

Leliana let out a short laugh at that.

“We have you for that, my dear Lady Morrigan.”

Leliana was sure that the glare she received would have sent many running for their lives. Not her though.

Morrigan scoffed at her lack of response.

“I don’t think I know better than everyone else, bard. I know I do.” She said simply, and Leliana rolled her eyes.

“Of course.”

The two paused, looking out of the palace, to the far distance.

“And I’m not old.”

Leliana laughed at that, turning to look at Morrigan from head to toe, in a very deliberate way. The same way she had 10 years ago, which had almost earned her a fireball to the face for her trouble. Now, though, the only heated response seemed to be on the witch’s cheeks.

Was that a blush?

Leliana smirked, but said nothing.

“What?” Came, predictably, the cutting question.

“No, not old indeed.” She said lightly. “The years have served you well.”

“Stop your games, Leliana.” Morrigan said, rolling her eyes. Leliana allowed her smile to become truly open and genuine at that, wanting to hide nothing at the moment.

“It is no game, Morrigan. Also, third time.”

Blush still in place, Morrigan turned to face her.

“Are you gonna keep count now?”

“Is it going to become a common enough occurrence for me to not have to?”

The question was not only about the name and they both knew it. Is this where they’d part ways once more? Or would they fight together again, side by side?

“Perhaps it shouldn’t. Maybe I’ll return to calling you bard. Or Sister Nightingale. Seneschal, even.”

Leliana felt a happiness she hadn’t felt for a long time settling deep inside of her.

Side by side it was.

She took a small step closer to Morrigan, their knuckles now brushing.

“I’ll stop counting, if you promise to keep saying it, Morrigan.” She said in a whisper, a little tremble in her voice at the boldness of her request.

Morrigan stopped for a few seconds, just looking at her. A look with so much feeling behind it that it reminded Leliana of how Morrigan had looked at her right before the fight against the Archdemon.

Without realising what she was doing, Leliana grasped Morrigan’s wrist as if to stop her from leaving again.

Once more, it seemed as though Morrigan had been reading her mind, because instead of recoiling as Leliana was expecting, Morrigan simply covered her hand with her own.

“Good. Seeing as I’m to live in Skyhold for the foreseeable future, it’d get tiring quite quickly.” She said, her dry tone failing to mask the fondness in her voice.

With a light squeeze on her hand (so light that Leliana thought she might have imagined it), Morrigan turned around and walked back towards the door, back to the party and to Celene’s side. Just before the witch crossed the threshold, Leliana recovered her senses, ignoring the blush on her own cheeks.

“I’m looking forward to working with you once more, Morrigan.”

The witch stopped.

“So am I. I guess wonders never cease.” She turned to meet Leliana’s eyes for one last time that night “Good night, Leliana.”

And with that, she was gone.

“Good night, Morrigan.” Leliana muttered to the empty balcony.

She turned to look over the gardens once more.

Morrigan had awoken something in her today, and she had no idea how the witch would feature in her day to day routine and responsibilities back home. This whole night had been almost an out of body experience for her; As if she was ten years younger again, flirting with danger, politics, lies, deceit, and with a wild apostate. And she’d loved it.

But tomorrow, they were to head back to the Inquisition. To Skyhold, where she was not a seneschal, but the spymaster. Where her responsibilities had weight, where her actions counted to their minimal details.

It had been a dream… a wonderful dream (full of murder, treachery and lies, but such was their life, and such was where she thrived in), but it had come to an end. Tomorrow, things would be back to normal.

Supposedly.

Leliana sighed.

What had she gotten herself into.

#morriana #dragon age inquisition #dai #leliana #morrigan #leliana x morrigan #morrigan x leliana #da fanfic #dai fanfic #fanfic #I love these two

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aweebwrites · 4 years

Text

Allies: Ch 1

Summary

Since it's birth, Ninjago has known nothing but war, and this war has been raging for thousands of years now with no victor. But the tides of war are turning, drawing close to what could be an end. The Elemental Knights will do everything in their power, under the order of Emperor Wu to stop the dark Emperor Garmadon and his army from succeeding in winning this war... But he too had his own champions standing in their way.

The race is on and clock is ticking and their aim? The Golden Weapons.

The goal is to end this war that has torn a family to pieces. The real question is: Who will do it? And really, which side is good and which is bad?

________________________________________________________________

The wind under his wings… Clouds passing by on both sides… Clean, crisp air… Sounds of distant waves and birds chirping… Peace. This is the feeling father strives for.

Lloyd opened his eye then, looking out from his tower high atop the Dark Castle, looking out at the rocky landscape spread out before him, the sky a purple colour during the night and red during the day, holding dark, spiraling clouds that gave the castle an ominous appearance. Its dark walls, its position built into a mountain of intimidating heights and cliffs gave it such a frightening appearance. But it was nothing of the sort. This place, said to harbor unparalleled evils, was Lloyd’s home for all of his life. Those who gossip such falsehood have never stepped foot inside the castle, his home. No place held more peace. Despite the never ending war brewing at their walls, inside these walls held peace and harmony. All was well here. Sometimes Lloyd didn’t want to so much as look outside. He didn’t wish to see the lands the one who had created this realm had scorched at the start of this war, didn’t want to see the rough, unappealing landscape… But there were days like today looking past these walls was all he could dream of. To see the life that managed to thrive here despite what the First Spinjitzu Master had done to it… To spots areas of land holding patches of greenery, to spot waterfalls and creatures soaring and hunting… They’re all reminders of what the future had in store for him. For them all once they win this war.

Lloyd smiled as he reached a hand up to his leather eye patch that was snug over his right eye, outlined in gold, the symbol of their land situated in the middle. It hurt.

“Prince Lloyd.” Lloyd glanced over his shoulder to see Kozu as he walked through his room to where he stood on the balcony.

“Kozu.” Lloyd greeted with a light smile then looked out once more. “I take it there is no shift in the tides of war?” He asked him lightly as the Stone Soldier stood straight in the presence of his Prince.

“No. We are still at a stalemate. The Kingdom of Fulgor anticipated our attack at the North side of the border. While we suffered no loss due to the presence of my soldiers, we’ve gained no traction either. The Earth Knight of Fulgor’s presence prevented that.” Kozu reported and Lloyd wasn’t surprised.

“I see.” Was all he said, wrapping his hand around the hilt of his sword tightly, the only sign of his frustration he would give.

For all the Kingdom of Fulgor’s greed and corruption, they were smart, tactical. The old Emperor Wu was a wise man. Getting around his strategies have been a challenge on their own. For the past year, he has taken a defensive stance against them. It was a clear sign that the old man was plotting something but not even their spies could tell what it is. It had to be of great importance, of great aid for the old man to keep under wraps so tightly. It was annoying. Frustrating. His father had always urged him to be patient but that was a task easier said than done. Lloyd blinked once his green cape was pulled over his shoulders, metallic fingers clasping it against his armor.

“Much longer in this cold morning and your eye will no doubt start acting up again.” Cryptor warned almost irritably and Lloyd faced his protectors with a smile.

“You’re right.” He nods at them.

“... Come. It is time to hone your fighting skills.” Kozu says as he turned way, all four arms clasped behind his back.

“Ri-”

“About that.” Cryptor spoke up, arms crossed over his chest, his black cape fluttering lightly in a gust of wind.

Cryptor’s glowing red eyes met Lloyd’s slitted one of the same colour.

“The Emperor wishes to speak with you.” He told Lloyd whose eye widened in surprise briefly before he nodded, walking past them both towards the door, unphased as they both followed him.

He hadn’t had the chance to see his father in so long due to his planning to try to end this war once and for all. Excitement and anticipation filled his stomach but he kept the emotions under wraps as he headed for the throne room. Along every corner of the castle halls had guards in their pairs. They were mostly Serpentine and Umbrians due to the stronger Stone Soldiers and Nindroids needing to be on the battlefield. But they are just as capable as the Nindroids and Stone Soldiers. They had to be to protect the castle. Namely, the Emperor and their Prince. Lloyd made his way by, his cape fluttering behind him as each pair of guards along the hallways and stairs straightened up in his presence as a sign of respect. Finally, Lloyd made it to the throne room, standing before the massive double doors of obsidian and precious materials. Without prompting, both Kozu and Cryptor walked forward, pushing the doors open for him. Lloyd looked ahead, eye gleaming at the sight of his father perched on his grand obsidian throne, watching them expectantly with his own glowing ruby red eyes.

“Father.” Lloyd says as he, Kozu and Cryptor bowed before him respectfully.

“... Leave us.” Garmadon spoke and both Stone and Nindroid Generals stood then walked out, closing the large doors behind them in unison.

The moment those doors closed, Lloyd launched forward, wings unfurling from under his cape, through the holes in his armor to push himself faster with a few flaps. Garmadon stood, catching him in his speed, a laugh echoing through the empty hall as his son clung to him, nuzzling him eagerly with a chorus of happy purrs, his tail wagging eagerly.

“Lloyd my son.” Garmadon spoke with a fanged grin, his lower arms coming around to support his son’s weight as the upper squeezed him into a hug. “It’s been so long. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.” He told his son as he brought a hand up to ruffle his hair, his smile softening as his son leaned into his touch with a happy purr.

“It’s alright dad. You have to be Emperor and lead the people, to stop the war.” Lloyd says as he looked up at his father with his red eye blown wide with his excitement.

Garmadon’s smile faltered as he brought a hand to his son’s face, pushing his eye patch aside to see his overcast, milky white eye that held tiny flecks of reds, greens, blues and even yellows. He had lost sight in this eye in such a tragic way yet still beauty blooms from this inhibition of his.

“It’s fine.” Lloyd says softly as he pulled back from his father, sliding the eye patch back in place as he stood on his own two feet. “It hasn’t been bothering me or anything.” He dismissed and Garmadon frowned.

“You may be able to get away with telling that to Kozu and Cryptor but not to your father.” Garmadon spoke and Lloyd also frowns, hating in this moment how easily his father saw through him.

It was his error to mention it. If he hadn’t then maybe he wouldn’t have noticed and he would finally let him fight with the rest of his army. He hated sitting around and being pampered, especially where more and more people are dying out there.

“Lloyd…” Garmadon says, tilting his chin up with a clawed hand. “More than anything, you mean the most to me. As long as you are safe, I can rest, I can fight.” He began his lecture and Lloyd frowned but met the Oni that was his father’s gaze.

“I want for no more harm to come your way… But I’ve received most troubling news from the Kingdom of Fulgor that would no doubt turn the tides of this war in their favour and guarantee their win.” The Emperor told him and Lloyd stiffened at that.

What could be so powerful, so crucial for them to win the war? Was it a new species? Ancient magic? A weapon? Lloyd narrows his eyes as he sneered, revealing a sharp fang.

“We can’t let them win.” He says immediately.

“And we won’t.” Garmadon says, turning away from his son to walk over to the glass stained murals over his throne that depicted the birth of Ninjago. “I’ve told you the story of how Ninjago came to be many a time. I have also told you that you are the grandson of the First Spinjitzu Master, as I am his son.” He says as he stood before a depiction of three people Lloyd had never heard the tale of.

“Yes, you have. What does this have to do with the Kingdom of Fulgor’s upper hand on us?” Lloyd asked skeptically.

Was their trump card really some ancient power or weapon?

“My brother, your uncle is attempting to find powers greater than any one of us, the very same power that created all of Ninjago, forged and kept in the four ancient weapons of Spinjitzu.” Garmadon says, folding his four arms behind his back, under his deep purple cape.

Lloyd’s eyes widened in horror. They intended to resurrect the very same weapons that created Ninjago and the ones that almost destroyed the Kingdom of Penumbra?! Lloyd couldn’t hold back a growl as his hackles rose, fangs bared as his shift deepened.

“Calm yourself, my son.” Garmadon says as he glanced at his son as his wings flared open and up in his anger. “All is not lost. In fact, this is a perfect opportunity.” He says lightly, picking up a thin, spiked circlet of pure obsidian off of a purple cushion then approached his son.

“My brother intends on sending all of the Knights of Fulgor on this mission. This will leave their front lines open. The other elemental masters will be of no trouble for my army. We will be able to push them back so no backup can aid the Knights.” Garmadon says as he stood before his son, a fanged smirk on his face. “And you, my precious son, will be the one that brings us victory.” He says, placing the crown on his son’s head where it belongs, the black crown standing out in his platinum blond hair.

It didn’t take Lloyd long to read into the implications of his father’s words. He met his father’s eyes, his own glowing at the sheer thought of finally being of use to the kingdom, to finally have a chance to fight for his people getting him fired up.

“I’ll follow the Knights and steal them.” Lloyd whispered and Garmadon nodded his confirmation.

“You’ll be taking Pythor, Cryptor and Kozu with you. Each of them have mentors to take their places so their absence won’t impact the army. In a day, the Knights will begin their quest. My brother was the one to hide the weapons so only he knows where they are. I have no doubt however, that they are all in the Kingdom of Fulgor. Had he stepped foot here all those years ago, I would have known. Be careful. Don’t lose them, no matter what.” He warned his son who nodded.

“I won’t.” Lloyd vowed, red eye burning with determination.

He was just handed a mission that would either be the salvation of his kingdom if they succeed… Or its demise if he fails. Failure for a mission like this… Was not an option. He stood straight, putting his tail and wings away as he took on a cool, serious expression. This is where he truly earns the title of Prince. The Knights of Fulgor have been a thorn in his side personally. He didn’t enjoy killing but he would do what he must for his kingdom, even if it comes to that. It just so happens that the Knights are the only ones he would like to see suffer death by his hands.

______________

A shiver ran down the spine of the Fire Knight of Fulgor. He glanced over his shoulder, towards where the Kingdom of Penumbra was, orange red eyes scanning the horizon critically.

“Something wrong, Kai?” Kai looked to the Ice Knight of Fulgor, Zane as they kept guard of Emperor Wu’s sleeping chambers.

“Nothing.” Kai says as he shook it off. “Did you hear? Cole stopped a squadron of the enemy from crossing the border.” He says, looking over the lush, green land around them.

“Yes. Emperor Wu was right yet again. The Penumbrians seem to never know when to quit.” Zane says with a small frown.

“That won’t be a problem pretty soon.” Kai grinned and Zane smiled, glowing blue eyes looking out at the view ahead, at the large lake nearby, glimmering in the early afternoon sun.

“Soon, this war will come to an end at last and the world can finally know peace.” Zane says softly, awe in his voice to finally have such a thing come to pass.

The war is as old as Ninjago itself. Once it started, it never stopped, even after thousands and thousands of years. But soon and oh so very soon, the forces of the Kingdom of Penumbra will fall and peace will reign. No more death. No more fighting. Mothers and fathers can go home to their children… And those who have passed to see that day come… Can rest in peace.

“... What will you do when we finally win this war?” Kai asked Zane who blinked at him, surprised at the question.

The pale Nindroid then smiled, looking ahead again.

“I will continue to serve the Emperor and Prince. I was made for this… And I am glad I was. Otherwise, I would have never met the other Knights… I would not have met you...” He says quietly and Kai felt his heart clench at Zane’s honestly spoken words.

“... Me too.” Kai says after a moment, looking out at the sky. “It’s in my blood, you know? To protect and defend. I’d like to believe this peace will last forever but that's highly unlikely. Impossible even. As long as we’re needed… I’ll be right next to you.” He says with a soft smile, reaching out to take Zane’s hand and the Nindroid blinked at him then smiled, a light chuckle escaping his lips as he lifted Kai’s hand to press a soft kiss to the back of it.

Kai laughed too, both of them indulging in this rare moment of quiet and calm.

Unknowing to them, a person formed in the shadow of a column nearby, watching the duo as they laughed carefree. They were right about that. The war will end. There will be peace. But such a thing cannot exist by their hands. Shade faded into shadow again, moving through the castle unseen. He heard a whisper of something very interesting Emperor Garmadon will be sure to want to hear...

___________

(OwO new fic here! I’ve been wanting to freshen things up a bit and to be more active again so why not throw out a new fic? Daily updates next to MOD updates! I hope you liked it! Also what do you think about the read more line? Start adding it to my posts or do you prefer one long body of text?)

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greensaplinggrace · 4 years

Text

Barret Apocalypse AU Pt. 2

PART 1 | PART 2 of Prompt: “Hello! This is kind of out there but I was wondering if you could do a post apocolypse au? With tons of Barret but not very shippy. With lots of found family though! Thanks” ~ @eilesgiire

CAN BE FOUND HERE ON AO3

Three hours and seven houses after leaving camp, Barret still hasn’t found a single shelter even remotely suitable for living.

Most have been the victims of roaming Mobs, walls shredded and marked by the distinct silver shards of glass bombs, destroyed simply for the safety and seclusion of their locations, and the select few that haven’t been touched by the Mobs are overrun by the infected instead. One place is even reduced to shambles by what appears to be an earthquake, not even slightly inhabitable.

Every single time, the houses will look stable from a distance. Safe to explore and eventually settle in for the winter. And every time, they all turn out to be unusable and they all reveal themselves to be disappointing in some way. He’d headed out to look for any house worthy of a home, but not a single place he’s come across so far is even close to meeting his criteria.

It doesn’t have to be much, but it has to be enough.

He won’t settle for anything less when it comes to his little girl.

It hurts to even be separate from her for so long, but he has to do this. If he wants to keep their camp safe, but especially if he wants to keep her safe.

Barret only wants what's best for Marlene; it’s always been what he’s wanted. Beyond the bid for environmental change and the firm rise against corrupt policies. Underneath rebellions and uprisings and what the media had once called terrorism. Throughout all of it - the loud, brash call for freedom and challenging the winds of fate themselves - Barret’s interests have never strayed from Marlene.

Everything he does, he does for her. Keeping the world safe keeps Marlene safe, and providing for Marlene is all Barret has ever wanted to do since the first moment she settled in his arms.

Unfortunately, providing for Marlene means taking risks, and taking risks means leaving her.

Used to be, taking risks meant risking Marlene as well, but Tifa’s solid presence at his side has been a boon the likes of which Barret had never expected. Sent by the planet herself, Tifa had come into their lives not in a whirlwind but in a steady drive back to camp after the day she’d recovered - the day he’d thought she left for good - with a truck bed full of three years worth of supplies and four suitcases brimming with clothes and toys for Marlene.

She’s done nothing but prove her worth every day afterward, pulling her weight around camp and helping to ease the burden of responsibility just a bit. Just enough for him to feel like he’s finally getting somewhere - like he can finally do what he needs.

So now, Marlene is always safe. Tifa stays with her when Barret goes out. Or Barret stays with her when Tifa goes out. Leaving Marlene no longer means abandoning her, and taking care of her doesn’t mean putting her at risk, and recently the world has stopped looking as bleak as it once had. Filling instead with just the faintest, glimmering tinge of hope.

But no amount of hope can change the fact that they need a solid roof over their heads, and no amount of trust in Tifa can help Barret miss his daughter any less.

Hope certainly isn’t getting Barret any closer to finding salvageable shelter, either, and he’s just beginning to give up on the last of it when a woman’s scream rips through the silence of the forest.

Barret hits the brakes with a grating screech and skids over to the side of the road immediately. Eyes wide through the shade of his glasses as he peers intently out the smudged windows of his truck, attempting to gauge any sort of threat level. He’s reluctant to exit the car just yet in case it’s a trap, but if it is a call for help Barret can’t just sit idly by while someone suffers.

He searches for a time before he notices where the screams are coming from, but eventually he sees it. Just down a small pathway in the forest that opens up into a wide clearing sits a house. It’s a massive, immaculately pristine mansion practically crawling with the infected, but that isn’t what chills him to the bone.

Dawn has started to break out the first light of the next day, and the vivid red rays cast a gruesome pallor over the scene laid out before him.

Littered across the blood slick grasses of the clearing are dozens of bodies - possibly hundreds - skewered and piked and cut to pieces like cattle. He’s stumbled into a damned battlefield, Barret realizes, and there’s only one group savage enough to do something like this.

SOLDIERs.

Without another thought he’s out of the car and slamming the door closed behind him. Infected he can deal with. SOLDIERS he can put up a fight against. But whoever is in that mansion? He doubts they can do either, otherwise they’d already be out amidst the fallen.

He sees the group of SOLDIERS almost immediately when he reaches the dip at the end of the pathway, the whole of the clearing opening up before him like some sick wartime display. There’s a man sprawled across the ground right in front of him whose eyes have been burned clean out of his skull, mouth smeared with blood and chest caved in. Laying dead beside him is another person, a woman with her head half severed at the neck and legs bent at an impossible angle. Then another and another, extending out in front of him and beside him, leading into the trees and up to the mansions doors.

At a guess, Barret would say they’re guards, but most of them aren’t even whole enough to identify, either butchered by their aggressors or gnawed at by the crowd of zombies currently tearing at the walls of the mansion.

It’s a level of cruelty Barret has never seen before in his life, and he considers himself a strong man when it comes to violence, but even entering the clearing has his stomach turning at the mere sight of the blood, pooled in wet patches of mud and glinting off matted blades of grass. It’s a massacre.

Killing the sick fucks who did this wouldn’t be punishment enough.

The fact that they’re still here, though? That’s what really pisses him off. There’s only two that he can see, gathered nearer to Barret than the mansion and both looking down at something on the ground, weapons drawn and ready as if they’re not already surrounded by the bodies of their victims. One has red hair and the other has long, distinct silver hair that Barret would be able to recognize anywhere, based on the propaganda that had run rampant throughout Midgar before it’s collapse.

Which means the other must be Genesis.

The first time Barret finally gets to come face to face with the war criminals who have destroyed the lives of so many - who worked gladly for the company that destroyed Barret’s life - and it’s when the world has been overrun by knock-off zombies and mako addicted gangs. And to make matters that much more complicated, there’s only two of the five he knows to exist currently present.

Two people who did all of this.

Shinra really did create monsters.

The heat that burns through Barret’s veins is pure rage when he hears the screams in the mansion cut out in one last abrupt, terrified screech, still standing surrounded by the brutalized bodies of the dead, a horde of infected not even a few meters away and a sea of blood like the earth is bleeding. While these people - these murderers - just linger at the scene of their own crime and talk like this is a damned vacation and not a fucking massacre.

Without even thinking of the danger, Barret is whipping his gun into the air and preparing to fire, free hand clenched into a furious fist at his side and vicious words already at the tip of his tongue. Ready to finally do something for once - ready to fight back and take control -

Yet before he can so much as consider firing, a movement catches his eye. A shock of matted blonde hair that shifts between the only two men still standing. Pale, bloodied limbs struggling to gain traction against the soaked and unforgiving earth. The hacking cough that follows is enough to sober Barret like a bucket of ice cold water as he realizes that somebody is still alive. Pinned between two super soldiers and lying prone as Sephiroth’s sword descends for the final blow.

Barret’s heart hits the back of his throat.

“Hey!” he yells, starting forward as they turn to face him. He ignores the warning frowns that mar their faces, Sephiroth’s sword drawing back ever so slightly as if to attack him instead, and powers on with his gun raised. “Hey! Get the hell away from him!”

It’s Genesis that ends up facing him fully, snapping his sword to attention in one quick, smooth motion and pointing it directly at Barret. It forces him to stop dead in his tracks a good few feet away from them, but Barret’s close enough now to see the pallid state of their faces and Sephiroth’s unnaturally slitted pupils. He looks like a ghost of the pictures Barret had once seen, cracked at the edges and wild eyed, paler than the dead and hair askew like some tormented ghost.

He doesn’t look alive.

And Genesis isn’t much better. Barret never had the chance to get a glimpse of him the way most had been able to with Sephiroth, but he can take a wild fucking guess that the graying, unwashed hair and sallow complexion isn’t normal. Nor is the way he’s acting right now, sword extended in a threat as a twisted smirk graces his delicate features.

They’ve both gone completely off the deep end.

The blonde on the ground isn’t faring too well, either. They’ve done a number on him, kicked and beaten him until his skin is coated in bruises, hair caked in blood and clothes ripped. There’s a cut down his shirt that looks like it was made by the straight edge of a sword purely for the purpose of exposing skin, and Barret’s veins run cold in a different kind of fury at the sight.

It’s easier now than it had been even days ago to believe the rumors. That the SOLDIERs were the ones to start this apocalypse; that it was Shinra’s precious little lapdogs who let the world fall into chaos.

Gaia, Barret is endlessly grateful that Marlene and Tifa aren’t here to see this right now.

“I ain’t playing around,” he snaps, “back the fuck off before I shoot.”

“This isn’t any business of yours,” Sephiroth sighs, sounding as if he’s discussing the weather instead of some poor man’s life, and Barret has to unclench and clench his fist again to refrain from shooting that smug mug right off his face, “I suggest you move along.”

“It’s not going to happen, you twisted fuck.”

Sephiroth’s lips thin at that, his blade finally falling away from the blonde completely as he turns to face Barret alongside Genesis. He looks incandescently angry, eyes alight with a demented sort of fury that has Barret’s hair standing on end, but he doesn’t back down. SOLDIER or not, he’ll find a way to stop them.

“I ain’t gonna let you murder somebody right in front of me!” he protests heatedly, swinging his gun around to face Sephiroth when the other’s eyes narrow dangerously. “The hell is wrong with you?! He’s on the ground right now. He can’t even fight back. ”

“This is SOLDIER business.”

“Of course, that’s why it involved the eighty guard rotation of some rich fuck’s manor? Dead servants and a horde of zombies clawing at the doors of a building that doesn’t even belong to you? SOLDIER business, my ass.”

Sephiroth sucks in a sharp breath, grip tightening ever so slightly on the hilt of his blade, but Barret doesn’t waver an inch as those hateful eyes glare venomously.

“I don’t know you and I don’t care to,” Sephiroth hisses, “but if you continue to try my patience, you’ll soon become acquainted with my blade. This is your last warning.”

“To hell with your fuckin’ warnings. How ‘bout I don’t shoot you for murdering half a small town’s worth of people.”

It’s Genesis that reacts this time around, letting out a laugh as he weaves the tip of his sword through the air. “You think you could hurt us with that toy?” he scoffs, smirk rapidly turning into a mocking sneer, “you’re nothing compared to us. I could put my sword through you before you even got a single bullet out of that worthless pile of scrap.”

“Take your best shot, asshole!”

It happens in the blink of an eye. One moment Barret is standing his ground against two furious supersoldiers, Genesis baring his teeth and winding up in a snarling fury, sword moving so fast Barret can hardly see it cutting through the air as he prepares to meet his end. Then the next there’s a blur of movement and the screech of metal against metal, a massive buster sword reverberating just inches above Barret’s head with the force of Genesis’s blade.

Barret instantly recognizes the blonde hair.

“What the-?”

“Cloud! Enough.” Sephiroth’s own sword is extended now, pressing with careful precision into the pulse point of the blonde, and he does not look any happier than he had thirty seconds ago.

“You two know each other?” Barret’s beginning to suspect this person might not be another unfortunate guard from the mansion. He’s holding his sword level with Genesis - of all people - as if it’s nothing. The weight of his blade alone should have been enough to send him keeling over.

That’s when Barret notices the uniform - a SOLDIER’s uniform. It doesn’t look the same as a first class uniform, but it's definitely not a civilian’s outfit either.

Barret had been protecting a SOLDIER.

A rush of emotions floods him at that. Anger and confusion and frustration making him growl out a warning and direct his gun right back at Sephiroth.

“What is going on here?” he demands, “you’re standing in the middle of a massacre about to kill one of your own?!”

Sephiroth chuckles, tone lightening for the first time since Barret arrived. “Well, we’ve already killed the other.”

Dead silence.

Not even Genesis moves for a second, and the blonde’s arms start to shake beneath the pressure. Though the sword above him poses a massive threat, Barret can’t help the way his eyes are drawn like magnets to the dead body that had been right beside the blonde. The torn, blood soaked remains of a SOLDIER uniform tells him all he needs to know.

They killed him. One of their own. Just as they’d been about to kill the blonde. There truly is no end to Shinra’s cruelty. Even after the company’s demise its loyal soldiers gather to slaughter each other like cattle and destroy the lives of those only trying to get by. Even after Shinra has died the planet still burns, and the SOLDIERs are still the tools of its destruction.

Yet a SOLDIER had also been the one to save his life.

Cloud, Sephiroth had said.

His reflexes are slow, movements groggy, and Barret would bet his only remaining arm that the guy has at least a medium grade concussion. He’s already breaking under the strain of holding back a super soldier - already crumbling beneath an impossible weight. There’s no telling if he’d be able to run or keep up with the fight - no telling if he’s a good enough person to even try it...but he’d been a good enough one to save Barret’s life.

Barret’s determined to get him out of this in one piece.

The next moment is a blur of movement. The snap decision to fire, not at Sephiroth but at his blade, until the sword is ripping the man’s arm sideways and his expression is slackening in surprise. Barret doesn’t even take a moment to contemplate the true suicidal stupidity of attacking someone like Sephiroth before he’s charging forward, grabbing the blonde by the waist and using his gun to take the brunt of Genesis’s sword. It’s only for a second - only to garner enough time to pull the kid back and free him from the lock of blades - but it’s enough for Barret to holler as an electrifying pain numbs his gun arm. The shriek of tearing metal splits the air, accompanied by Genesis’s own noise of outrage, and Barret hauls the kid backwards and onto his shoulders without hesitation.

There’s a beat of tension as Sephiroth recovers his footing and Genesis regains his bearings, Barret staring right at two infuriated super soldiers through the sparks of his shredded arm.

Then the world is rushing back around him. Panic and noise and the need to get the hell out of there. To return home to his daughter.

So Barret takes the kid and he runs.

And hell, he doesn’t look back for anything.

——

Barret winds down several backroads as he makes his way back to camp, determined to shake any tail he might have now that he’s possibly angered some of the most powerful people in the world. He hadn’t seen them pursue him after he’d dumped himself and the kid in his truck and torn out of there like a bat out of hell, but there’s no telling what their kind has up their sleeves.

There’s no telling what the one in his truck has up his sleeve, either, and it’s damn ridiculous that Barret is risking any part of his life for a Shinra lapdog that might turn on them at any moment, but he can’t bring himself to abandon the guy. Can’t allow himself in good conscience to leave someone so clearly injured out to fend for themself, let alone someone who’d happened to save his life. Even if Barret had also happened to save theirs. Barret would say that makes them even, but he knows it’s more complicated than that - knows that ties of any sort of blood can lead people to do bad things. It's hard to break from that mold. Hard to choose something good over those you consider family.

Cloud turned on his people. That takes more than guts. Though Barret doesn’t know if 'more' is a bad thing or a good thing, considering it had led him to being a turncoat. No matter how justified it may have been.

He brings the blonde back to camp because it’s the right thing to do, and because apparently he’s made a habit of picking up strays. But it’s with a heavy heart and a host of fears, millions of horror scenarios playing out in his head. A swirling mass of dreadful scenes depicting Marlene and Tifa hurt and dying because of his actions - his family hunted now by people they have no hope of beating alone.

Scenes that follow him all the way home.

Yet when he pulls up to camp he doesn’t even think to let those worries show, and when he steps out of the car and slams the door shut behind him, there’s nothing on his face but a massive, beaming smile as he sets sights on his little girl. She squeals when she sees him, dashing forward in a mad scramble of flying cookware from the portable oven.

“Daddy!” she screams excitedly, “Daddy, you’re back!” She hits him with all the force of her tiny body and he laughs as he takes her up in his arm. The warmth and relief that fills him almost brings tears to his eyes, and he hugs her so tight to his chest that he can feel her breathing and alive against him.

“That’s right, angel! Safe and sound, just like I promised.”

She giggles against his neck, small fists rising to press at the nape of his neck in a hug. “Tifa and me were making you dinner!”

“Oh, is that so?” He chuckles, looking up to see Tifa standing a short distance away. She looks relaxed and happy, smiling with a languid sort of bliss as she watches the two of them.

Then her eyes drift down to his destroyed arm and the expression drops to one of pure panic, her gaze darting back up to his own with alarm.

He winces and shakes his head, silently telling her he’ll explain it all later. But he refuses to let go of Marlene right now - refuses to let her out of his sights - so he nods at the passenger seat of the truck, observing pensively as Tifa finally seems to catch his drift, circling around the car to check inside.

“Did you bring back anything fun, Daddy?” Marlene asks sweetly, leaning away to peer up at him with wide eyes. He hums for a moment to stall, hearing Tifa’s small gasp as she catches sight of the battered SOLDIER, and tries to keep his tone light when he answers.

“Not this time, baby. Had to focus on houses instead of stuff, remember?”

“Uh huh! You were house hunting!” She exclaims proudly, eyes crinkling with the force of her smile.

It’s impossible not to return one of his own, warm and loving as he moves them both away from the situation about to unfold, further into the camp. “That’s right! When did you get such a good memory?”

Marlene kicks her legs in the air with an offended sniff. “I always have a good memory. It’s you that forgets things. Like my necklace!” She pouts.

“Well, you’ve got me there,” he laughs, forcing his tone into something unworried as he turns to see Tifa haul the blonde from the car. She slams the door shut with enough force to make Marlene jump, and as she carries the blonde bridal style into the clearing he notices the dark shadow of horror in her eyes, lips tight and arms shaking as she stares down at him.

Marlene can’t help turning at the noise, and Barret has no power to stop her as she gets a look at their new guest. She gasps, mouth dropping open as she begins to squirm eagerly in his grasp. “Who’s that?! Is he another friend? Is he staying with us too, like Tifa?”

“I don’t know!” He keeps a hold of her as Tifa sets the blonde down on her own mattress, instantly digging around in her pack for supplies. Then turns his full attention on Marlene again, looking sternly into her pleading brown eyes until she stills enough to listen.

“We don’t know if he’s staying, yet,” he tells her honestly, voice gentle, “But we can’t bother him right now, okay? He’s hurt and he might be dangerous.”

“Dangerous how? Who is he?” It’s Tifa who speaks, although she doesn’t look back at him as she does so, and Barret sighs as he crouches to lower Marlene to the ground. She races over to them both before he can do anything, but he trusts that Tifa won’t let any harm come to Marlene.

“A fool, apparently,” Barret snorts with bitter self reproach, “and a turncoat too. ‘Less his friends were just…” he glances at Marlene, shocked and curious as she hides behind Tifa and peaks out at the blonde from around the woman’s shoulder. “...hurting him for the fun of it. They looked past the point of sanity, though, so who the hell knows.”

“A Cluster?” Tifa frets, “I thought they didn’t wander out this way.”

“They usually don’t. Stick to the roads and such. Don’t got time for the likes of backwoods campers. But this wasn’t a Cluster, it was worse.”

“Worse how?” She finally turns to look back at him, and the furrow between her brows makes his heart ache for her. He almost doesn’t want to say it, but -

“SOLDIERS.”

She freezes, expression going blank, and he knows nothing good can be going through her head right now.

“What?” She croaks breathlessly, “You brought a SOLDIER back here? Are you insane? ”

“What’s a soldier?” Marlene’s voice is small and afraid, and Barret swallows the conversation in an instant at her tone, falling to his knees and beckoning her over.

“It’s nothing, sweetheart. Come here.”

He sees Tifa drop the conversation as well, biting her lip to keep from speaking as she settles a comforting hand on Marlene’s shoulder. She forces herself to relax as she gives Marlene a warm smile, nudging her toward Barret, and after a few seconds Marlene begins to approach with tiny steps. She’s fidgeting, casting fervent looks back at the limp body next to Tifa.

“Is our new friend a bad guy?” she asks hesitantly, eventually working up the courage to speak as she gets closer.

Barret swallows thickly. “No, he’s not- not a bad guy. He saved my life.” Then, louder as he directs it to Tifa, “he saved my life.”

She sighs and nods, shoulders tense as she turns back to keep working on Cloud, and Barret leans forward the rest of the distance to sweep Marlene up again into a comforting hug. Like magic, though, she’s already moved on from the emotion of two seconds ago. Fear turned to a palpable interest as she hums curiously against him and vibrates with a new kind of energy.

“So he’s a hero?” She asks as he stands to take them to her tent.

“I suppose he is,” he admits reluctantly, holding back a scowl.

“Then why is he so hurt?”

He parts the flaps of her tent and carries her into the muted blue shadows, laying her gently down on her sleeping bag. She yawns widely, rubbing at her eyes and sniffing, but she doesn’t let up on the questioning gaze for one second.

Barret toys with his next words. “His old family...didn’t treat him very well.”

“But why?”

“What do you mean?”

“Families aren’t supposed to hurt each other. They’re supposed to take care of each other. Like you do with me.”

His gaze softens and he brushes a stray lock from her eyes, mulling over his next response. “I take care of you because I love you, and you’re my precious little girl.” She giggles when he leans down to smother her in a sloppy kiss, pushing his face away playfully. Then he leans back and sobers up, saying tenderly, “These people...they weren’t like us. They didn’t agree with him, sweetheart. I don’t know the whole story, but I know they tried to kick him out.”

“They wanted to abandon him?”

She sounds so sad, and Barret doesn’t know how to make it better. Doesn’t want to lie to her but doesn’t want to hurt her.

He exhales slowly and presses her back into her bag when she tries to rise. The heavy weight of his hands rests on her chest for a moment in solid comfort, and after a time her small fingers come up to rest atop his own. She pats at him solemnly like it’s him that needs the comforting, and he chokes back a laugh.

“We should keep him,” she says, “so he can know what a real family is.”

“We aren’t his family, sweetheart.”

“But you’re a Daddy. And you said that we should always help and protect people.”

“That’s-” He huffs in amusement and relents beneath the insistence of her hopeful eyes. “Very kind, Marlene. And very brave.”

Her smile is shy with the light pink in her cheeks, but her eyes sparkle victoriously. Barret doesn’t know how to tell her that the SOLDIER probably won’t be around come morning, if he even stays that long at all. So he turns his palm to catch her wrists between his fingers, bringing her hands up to lay a kiss on the back of each. Then he lowers them back down to kiss her goodnight as well, hushing her worries with a gentle touch to the forehead.

“I couldn't be more proud of you,” he says lowly, “my kind girl. You’ve grown up so well.”

“I think you’re the kindest, Daddy, for helping people even when they’re mean. I think you’re a hero, too. You and Auntie Tifa and…”

“His name is Cloud,” Barret admits, already regretting saying the words. And sure enough-

“And Uncle Cloud!”

“How about we wait until he’s awake to see if he wants to be called that, huh?” It’s a lot more rational than he wants it to be, but he can’t bear to snuff out the flickering light of hope Marlene’s found in the situation.

“Fine,” she pouts, before brightening excitedly, “and then he can tell us a story! About how he was the hero and saved you.”

Barret rolls his eyes and stands to leave. “I saved him too, you know.”

“Sure, Daddy.”

“Yeah, yeah...Goodnight, little bug.”

“Night night!” He exits the tent and zips up the flaps, and it’s only after he’s turned and made his halfway across the camp that he hears, “don’t let the bed bugs bite!” sound out behind him.

Barret chuckles fondly, wincing at a sudden sting of pain in his gun arm, and glances over at where Tifa’s working on the SOLDIER.

His smile drops almost instantly as he sees her leaning back on her heels, hands raised defensively against the harsh movements of her patient.

He’s awake, Barret thinks.

And acting exactly as Barret had feared, judging by the distress clear from across camp. He grits his teeth and storms over, hand already clenched into a fist.

“Hey!” Tifa jumps in surprise, turning to face him as he approaches, and Barret only faintly registers the lack of fear on her face before an infuriatingly cold voice is piercing the air.

“You can’t keep me here,” Cloud says, rising to sit up despite the obvious agony it brings him. He wraps an arm around his stomach, but the intensity of his glare doesn’t waver once.

Tifa worries at her lip as he moves, hands hovering over his battered body as if she doesn’t know where to place them. “You’re still injured, you can’t be up and about! Let me help you,” she practically begs, and Barret’s blood boils at the sound of it. What right does this kid have?

“Not interested.”

“Oh you can’t be serious!” Barret finally snaps, coming to a stomping halt right next to the both of them and scowling furiously down at the kid. “Drop the tough guy act and suck it up. You ain’t helpin’ no one with that attitude, least of all yourself.”

He opens his mouth to say more and falters almost violently when he catches sight of Cloud’s exposed upper body, teeth clacking shut as his eyes widen.

The kid’s shirt is cut right off of him now, with the tight black binder around his chest exposed for all to see. Yet what really horrifies Barret is the garish mass of bruises painting every inch of his skin. He’s coated in cuts and stab wounds, shaking with exhaustion and ribs stark against his thin body, with what looks like an actual bullet wound still red and seeping in his shoulder. Under the pale light of the moon, with blood and dirt washed away, he looks worse than he had sprawled out on that battlefield.

Barret’s stomach turns.

“Shit,” he breathes out before he can stop himself, “what the hell did they do to you?”

“A lot less than what they did to Zack!” His voice cracks and his teeth clench after he speaks, as if the words have spilled unwillingly from his mouth.

“The other SOLDIER?” The one they killed?

The words spark a fire in Cloud that has him whipping to attention so quickly Barret’s surprised he doesn’t keel over from the pain. “It ain’t any of your business!” he grinds out, voice desperate and guarded and hurt all at once, lashing out like an injured animal, “Stop treating me like I’m made of glass. Stop talking like you’re familiar with me. You don’t even know me.”

Tifa crosses her arms and raises her chin defiantly, unflinching in the face of Cloud’s anger, and meets his gaze head on when he turns to glare at her. Barret’s hit with another sense of profound respect for this woman, who doesn’t even blink at the unnatural glow of mako eyes in the night, upper body rising to match Cloud’s own harsh tension.

“You’re not being treated like glass! Your injuries are getting taken care of. Last I checked, there’s a hell of a difference.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Ya can’t take care of shit, soldier! Do you hear yourself?” Barret hisses, “do you see yourself? You wouldn’t make it a day out in the wild alone.”

Cloud works his jaw, the stubborn set of his shoulders unrelenting for just a second before his expression shifts, softening in surprise as his trembling body finally can’t take the stress anymore. Tifa reaches out just in time to catch him as he collapses, and the way his lashes flutter, eyes glazing over, speaks more about his wounds than whatever shit was spilling out of his mouth.

Barret snorts. “What a dumbass.”

“Barret!” Tifa scolds, lowering the kid with such a painful amount of gentleness that he’s half convinced the kid may have been onto something about being treated like glass.

“Look, he’s an asshole!” Barret defends, waving his gun arm at the kid in a momentary lapse of judgement that has it zinging with pain. He covers up a wince before Tifa can see it and continues on, growing tenser with each passing moment, voice heated with the pain and frustration of the day. “We’ve done nothing but help him and he’s acting like he doesn’t give a single shit. Dozens of people died today. I almost died! He almost died!”

“And his friend did die, so maybe cut him some slack.”

“That doesn’t excuse his shitty behavior.��

“It was one conversation, Barret! For a few minutes, while he was concussed and injured and barely coherent. He probably won’t even remember it in the morning.”

Barret grinds his teeth and quiets, because he knows she’s right. Know he’s overreacting but damn, everything about the kid had rubbed him the wrong way. “He’s a SOLDIER, Tifa.”

“One who apparently saved your life. One that you brought back with you, which tells me a bit more about what you really feel about this situation.”

“I just don’t trust him,” Barret says, “and I don’t like him.”

Tifa just shakes her head. “Go to sleep, Barret. You’ll want to apologize in the morning.”

“You said he wouldn’t remember the damn conversation anyway!” Barret huffs indignantly, the thought of apologizing makes his hackles rise like nothing else, and he’s thinking he may need to take Tifa’s advice, after all. That he should go to bed before he does something else he might regret.

Something- not something else- because there’s not anything else that he-

Dammit .

“Yeah,” he sighs, waving his hand as Tifa opens her mouth to keep fighting, “yeah, you’re right.”

He gives her a soft goodnight, feeling a bit better when she relaxes and sends him a reassuring smile before turning back to work on Cloud, and heads over to his own tent to settle in for the night.

He just needs some time to cool down - just needs to take a moment to himself so he can grieve the brutal loss of his prosthetic and the deaths of every single person he’d seen today. Needs to be able to reconcile with the horrifying levels of destruction he’d witnessed.

Once that’s done - once he’s had the time to settle down - he’ll apologize. Or find the guy some ice cream. He doesn’t know. But right now, just for the night, he needs to rest.

He goes to sleep with a calm mind that night, content and soothed by the knowledge that things turned out okay, with the firm resolution that he’ll get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow and lighten the air between him and the new guy.

Unfortunately, come morning, Tifa’s bedroll is empty. The top kicked aside and the buster sword missing from where it had been propped up against a tree.

Cloud is nowhere is sight.

And as Barret looks around in sleepy bewilderment, he realizes that neither is the truck.

“Mother fucker!”

#barret wallace #dad barret #soft barret #fanfiction #marlene wallace #tifa lockhart #cloud strife #protective barret #whump #ff7 #ffvii #remake #hurt comfort #cloud strife needs a hug #barret needs a hug #promptfills

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meaninglessblah-writes · 4 years

Note

“Who hurt you?” (For Damian and anyone else)

Sorry for taking so long to get back to you on this! It sort of ran away from me. Hope you enjoy a little angst for Talon!Damian, and thank you for the prompt!

Warning for injury, blood and suicide ideation. Full prompt beneath the cut.

–

The sewer is quiet and blessedly dark.

Damian slumps into the wall, propping his shoulders against the worn concrete as he draws his legs up. Grits his teeth and pressed a few hard breaths past the pain.

The lighting leaves something to be desired down here, but Damian’s never had trouble navigating the darkness with his training before. And this deep into the tunnels, he can sprawl out against a dry (if dripping) patch of concrete and let the wash of trickling water lull him.

He’s losing too much blood. The sight of it, sickly red and gurgling from him, barely concerns him; he’s lost plenty of blood before. Under the guise of training at the hands of his siblings. At the end of a last, desperate knife in one of his victims’ hands. The ones who had had enough warning to fight back, anyway.

Nothing quite like this, though. More pressingly, Damian needs to stay conscious. He escaped on sheer quick wit and surprise alone; he doubts he’ll fare so well against such meticulously trained assassins again if they find him in this state. And they will find him. Damian’s never been more certain of anything in his short life. It’s inevitable.

Damian hisses, hunches over and grinds his blood-slicked palm against the gaping wound at his side. He has to staunch the flow, has to slow the steady gush of blood before he’s too weak to.

As much as a part of him welcomes the fade, the softer slump of a bloodless death.

His gloved fingers slide over the clasp of his buckle, the wet leather making it impossible to gain traction against the shine of the metal. He struggles for a moment, pain flaring, before he manages to wrestle the belt free with a groan.

Damian doesn’t need to divest it of any weapons; he’d lost all his knives in the brief scuffle before he’d managed to throw himself off the Roost. The fall hadn’t hurt nearly as much as the glass that had shredded through his flesh like tissue paper, snagging in the thick kevlar of his suit. Damian can still feel the grit of the shards when he shifts to bind his suit tighter, press it hard against the jagged edges of his wound to hold them closed.

Panic is brief and fleeting as he fumbles for his prize, fingers finding the smooth sweep of the small dagger again after a moment and gripping tight. It’s only once he’s sure of his grasp on the blade that Damian lets himself slump with a heavy exhale, blinking perspiration and dizziness from the corners of his vision. Now he just has to wait for them to find him.

They’ll come armed to the teeth, he knows. Not a single knife left behind. Every one destined to find home in Damian, marking out his betrayal with each slide of steel on his flesh.

His next exhale is not so steady. He lets his eyes slide closed, lets the soft wash of the rain’s deluge echo through the sewer. Let’s himself drift and rest while he can.

He swims back to consciousness - perhaps a moment, perhaps a millennia later - with the knowledge that he’s not alone. Damian turns his head, glances over at the figure framed by the dim light, taller than he expects - Todd, perhaps?

But then the man steps closer, steps patient and inexorable, and Damian sees the flash of white hair atop his crown when he passes under a square of light. He bares teeth reflexively, shifting in his sit and grimacing at the fresh wash of agony up his stifled side. It’s hard to breathe this way, his ribcage held bound by the band of leather that’s keeping him alive.

It’s better than the alternative.

“You’re a bit far from the nest, all the way down here,” Deathstroke’s low timbre filters over to him, and Damian grunts his disapproval in the back of his throat.

“Wilson,” he hisses in warning, but can’t summon the strength to sit upright as a wave of lethargy crests over him.

He’s not a threat any more than Damian’s siblings were. The Talons and Deathstroke have crossed blades many times before; Damian’s sure this won’t be the last time the mercenary scuffles with one of their own. The pair of them have never found cause for disagreement before. Just two professionals, unaligned.

And if Wilson does wish him harm, Damian’s not long for this world anyway. What’s a kind blade of a merciful foe compared to the sharp bite of a betrayed friend?

It’s not like he deserves the reprieve anyway.

Damian’s lips part, dragging down a harsh breath as his brow pinches. Focuses on schooling his rebellious stomach, calming the tide of guilt that it dredges up. Is aware of the man’s slow, curious approach, footsteps nearly imperceptible on the concrete as he kneels at Damian’s side.

Then a hand around his throat, fingers latching behind his windpipe as Damian snarls and chokes. He lifts a gloved hand to grip at that wrist, wishing he had nails to drag down the exposed skin, and opens his eyes to flash a glare at the man as Wilson settles a knee against his ribs. A secondary pin, if he proves himself capable of shirking the grip at his throat.

“Who hurt you, little Talon?” the man purrs, amusement curling his lips as Damian’s teeth bare. Wilson surveys him curiously, a few fingers slipping down to dip into the blood at his side, teasing into the gash in a way that makes pain flare sharply through the younger’s torso.

Damian bites out a growl, canting away from that entranced touch, and knocks his knee into Wilson’s own as it presses down. Holds him steady as the man traces up the length of the wound, inspects it.

“Why are you down here, little bird?” the mercenary purrs, around a coy smile, studying the flat glower, the way Damian huffs and succumbs to the pin. Slade Wilson is a formidable man at a fair match; Damian’s not foolish enough to challenge him when he’s so compromised. “Why not run back to your psychopathic brothers, to your Roost?”

Damian’s lip curls in another snarl, another kind of pain flaring through his chest as Wilson hums. And then the hand at his throat constricts sharply.

He can’t afford to play this game any longer. Damian’s hand - the one clenched around the blade, Dick’s blade - snaps up, aiming for that soft expanse of neck just under the man’s jaw, exposed by the collar of his suit. He can practically taste the blood as its tip catches, picture the pale wash of Wilson’s face when he’s drained dry-

Wilson’s palm pins flush to the blade, shoving it away and then canting to wrench it from Damian’s slackening grip. Damian bleats a protest, but the hand on his throat is loosening, withdrawing in the next moment as Slade shifts back to inspect the blade under the weak light.

“This is Grayson’s blade,” he murmurs, that ice blue gaze lacerating Damian when it returns. There’s dawning comprehension there when Wilson smirks, amusement laced through his tone. “Did you fall out of the nest, little Talon?”

Hatred, raw and undirected, swamps him. The reminder of what he’s lost, the home he’s left behind, is too sudden. It jars his false calm, splintering the meagre reassurances he’d managed to build. Cracks the faith he has in his mother’s patient plan, her intentions to eradicate the nest of lethal Talons with one of their own.

When he lashes out, it’s without direction. Just claws and reaching fingers demanding the one piece of his old life he has left. The small memento of his mentor that he’d managed to salvage; had paid in the blood that now coats these tunnels, for a memory of Dick. Something to clutch and carry with him when his elder comes to drag him into his grave.

Wet with Grayson’s blood, with the evidence of Damian’s betrayal.

His hand is batted away, digits searing into his wrist as it’s twisted and yanked up over his chest. Exposing the severity of his wound to Wilson’s eyes as the man pins Damian’s arm against his own torso, jostling where his knee grinds a bruise into his aching ribs.

Damian gulps down a bleat of pain, stilling in the hold as Wilson presses the heel of his palm into the younger’s sternum.

Satisfied with his temporary compliance, Wilson grunts and shifts his grip on the blade, turning it away even as Damian’s keen eyes track it. There’s a solemn knowing in the mercenary’s gaze when he meets it, coiled beneath that ruthless humour. “Not so easy following the puppeteers orders when you have to compromise on the one you love, is it?”

“Shut up,” Damian grits out through bared, flashing teeth.

“Did Grayson look surprised when you tried to cut his throat?” Wilson asks. Damian can’t breathe through the guilt that sears up his chest and bubbles behind his eyes. “Or did he suspect you weren’t as loyal as you claimed to be before you made the first strike?”

Damian’s lip curls. “Shut up.”

“Did he order your brothers to exterminate you, traitorous little Talon? Or did he want to finish you off himself?”

Damian roars, kicking out for the man’s knee, even as he shifts to absorb the hit. Wilson layers his weight down heavier on Damian’s sternum, squeezing the breath sharply from his lungs as the younger keens and throws his head back. “By his hand,” Damian chokes, and Wilson’s chest rumbles in a laugh.

“Had to do the deed himself,” Wilson interprets with an absent shake of his head. “Grayson always was sentimental.”

Damian shakes his head in dissent, sucking down a laboured breath. “By his hand. Go back. I have to- Grayson promised-”

Wilson’s gaze clears with understanding, an odd quiet awe settling over his features as Damian gasps in too little air, head spinning. “You want to go back there, don’t you, little Talon?”

Damian whines and nods, hiccuping on tears when the weight doesn’t alleviate from his sternum. He doesn’t want to die here. Grayson promised him the death he’d earned, a death by his side. A death beneath the drag of his blade and his blade alone, where Damian could see his face, hear his words, as he was taken from this world. Damian would get what he was owed, what he was promised.

Wilson sighs, and eases off his chest enough that Damian can gulp in a ragged breath. He waits while the younger heaves through his first few inhalations, choking them out in broken coughs that echo in the enclosed space. When Damian settles back against the concrete, cheeks wet and skull throbbing, Wilson says, his tone hushed, “Apologies then, little bird. But your mother has a contract, and I intend to fulfill it.”

He sounds remorseful. Damian doesn’t care.

When Wilson drags him over onto one shoulder to bind him wrist to elbow, Damian can’t summon the will to fight it. His chest hurts, in more way than one, and all he can see is the look on Grayson’s face when he’d unveiled his mission, begged him to leave with Damian. The sneered grimace that had twisted Damian’s stomach into a tight knot as Grayson had pulled a knife from his belt, incensed with despair.

Wilson slides gloved fingers through the young Talon’s locks, lips brushing Damian’s ear when he exhales a shuddering breath into the pavement, complacent beneath the mercenary’s hands. “You’ll be home soon, little Talon.”

No, I won’t, Damian thinks, and closes his eyes.

You can prompt me here!

#Damian Wayne #Slade Wilson #esteicy-blog #190814 #meaninglessblah answers

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unadulteratedfandomtrash · 4 years

Text

Kim Seokjin x Reader ~ The Big Secret [Part 1]

[My BTS Masterlist]

A/N: My apologies for not posting for such an extended period of time. I have been busy with work, school, and other things in my life. I know I need to finish my Loki series, but I decided to post this fan fiction story for the time being; I need some more time to perfect the last chapter for “Rest Assured.” Please understand that while I do have the general outline for the events that’ll take place in the last chapter, I am having difficulty writing out the words to correspond with my ideas. Thank you for your patience.

Also, please note that this story is not trying to insinuate that any of the members would/do act like they do in my writing; this is all fictional and coming from my imagination. Also, this story does not strictly follow the timeline or realistic details.

Ages:

Reader- February 9, 1993 (26)

Older than Yoongi, but younger than Jin

Jin- 1992 (26)

Word Count: 2406

“YEESSSSSS,” Taehyung exclaims as he collapses onto the floor, thoroughly exhausted after a long night of practice. “I just want to sleep now.”

With the group’s newest music video waiting to be filmed, all the members have been working hard the past three days to memorize and perfect the dance routine choreographed for their new title track. Since Hoseok is the fastest learner amongst the others, he has been supervising their late-night practices while providing constant feedback on their performance, leaving every man in the room utterly tired.

“Get off the floor! Do you want to invite all the germs into your body?!”

Instead of listening to the eldest member, who is screeching in horror as two more of the group’s youngest drop down onto the hardwood floor, Taehyung rolls away from his friends to avoid the uncomfortable feeling of their body heat emanating from the close proximity.

“C’mon, guys. Let’s pack up all our stuff so we can go back to the dorm for a nice, cold shower and order some dinner.” Namjoon gently nudges the younger members with his foot, bargaining with them in order to speed up the process. “Whoever gets up first, I’ll pay for their food.”

Jungkook immediately shoots up from the ground and darts over to the rapper, his eyes wide with excitement. In hindsight, Namjoon should have realized the maknae would never turn down the opportunity to receive free food from his hyungs, but seeing Jungkook light up at the mere mentioning of a meal leaves the rapper smiling.

“I assume you want lamb skewers, Jungkookie?”

“Yes, please!”

“Hyung, that’s not fair,” Taehyung and Jimin cry out in unison, rushing over to where Namjoon is standing with their bottom lips jutting out in a pouting manner.

“Well, if you wanted to win, you should’ve gotten up faster. Let’s go, guys. It’s late. Maybe, if you ask nicely, Jungkook will share.”

The others shake their heads knowingly as the file out of the studio with their respective belongings, all the while formulating a plan to snatch a small portion of Jungkook’s lamb skewers before every morsel is practically inhaled by the maknae; food becomes a rare gem in the dorm once they return from a long day of work, especially with Jungkook around.

“Please, Hyung! Please!!”

After showering and changing into comfortable pajamas, the members of BTS sadly realized they took too long freshening up. All the restaurants and fast food joints have closed for the night, and with Jin being the only one who ever willingly cooks out of all the members, the hungry men flock to their eldest in hopes that he will cook for everyone after such a tiring day.

“I’m meeting up with a friend tonight in less than two hours,” Jin states. He keeps his gaze fixated on the floor, unwilling to look into the sullen expressions his dongsaengs are shooting at him. “Can’t one of you just fix up some ramyun to eat tonight? Or better yet, have Yoongi cook for you! You guys need to be able to survive on your own without me.

“But Yoongi-Hyung is asleep in his room,” Taehyung laments.

Joining the argument with lamb meat stuffed in his cheeks, Jungkook argues back, “Yeah, and you always scold us whenever we bring ramyun into the dorm!”

“Because eating that stuff on a normal basis is bad for you! Especially young, growing kids like you, Jungkook!”

The bickering continues to escalate, but in the midst of all the commotion, Hoseok is seated in an armchair with his brows furrowed in confusion. Jin had mentioned an arrangement with a friend for the past year or so, but has never once given any hints or details as to who this person is. In fact, none of the members know where their hyung runs off to and what he does. However, one thing is for sure, Hoseok has a suspicion that whoever Jin meets up with, that person has been helping their eldest member with his dancing since Jin normally goes to someone from the dance line for help, but that has been dwindling lately; he wants to know who Jin is seeking assistance from, but he needs to get answers himself.

“Hyung, didn’t you say that you need to leave soon,” Hoseok inquires with a cheeky smile.

Dramatically gasping, Jin thanks the dancer and runs over to the door to slip on his shoes. Before opening the door, he reaches into his leather bag, shuffling through his stuff to pull out some money. A colorful, reflective disk catches Hoseok’s eye, but he remains quiet as Jin explains to Jimin that a nearby gas station’s instant noodles selection should satiate their hunger for the time being.

“Now remember, Namjoon is technically in charge since he’s the leader. Listen to him. And don’t think that I’ll let you guys eat ramyun often after this! The dorm better be intact and clean when I get back!!”

Once the front door slams shut and Hoseok hears the familiar ringing of the elevator, he darts down the hall into his room to change, earning questioning looks from his friends.

“”Everybody needs to leave, now! We’re gonna follow Jin-Hyung.”

“But why…”

I’ll explain on the way! Now hurry before we lose him!! And somebody wake up Yoongi!”

Sneaking around Seoul in the evening without warm coats is not an ideal situation anybody should find themselves in, but that is what six of the Bangtan boys are doing as they attempt to stealthily follow their hyung’s car without looking shady enough to draw unnecessary attention from the authorities or potential, unsuspecting fans.

“So, let me get this straight: We’re freezing our butts off out here to follow Hyung because you believe he’s lying to us?” Yoongi grabs Hoseok by the arm and turns him around, glaring at the dancer with half-lidded eyes threatening to shut— the low temperature does little to keep him awake. “Why didn’t you just tail behind him in a car?”

Realization hits him, but Hoseok refuses to allow his friend to win, so he argues back, stating that Jin would not pay as much attention to pedestrians on the sidewalk behind his car, versus a car behind him on the streets.

“I mean, I guess it makes sense,” Jungkook shrugs in agreement. “Jin-Hyung would need to focus on the cars behind and in front of him. Unless if people are too close to the car or crossing the street, there’s no need to really look at them.”

A harsh glare is thrown at the maknae, but he pays no mind to Yoongi since he is too busy trying to peel both Taehyung and Jimin off of him, who argue that they are conserving body heat.

“Guys, don’t argue.” Namjoon finds himself pleading to the members once again. The only reason why he agreed to follow Jin was to settle Hoseok’s mind and prove that their hyung is not hiding anything disreputable. While he does agree that the eldest’s actions are quite suspicious and understandably raises concern, the dancer is confident that Jin has his reasons for the secrecy. “The sooner we get this over with, the faster we can return to the dorms.”

Before another word syllable can be uttered, Namjoon is interrupted by squeals of excitement coming from Hoseok, who is shaking an irritated and thoroughly exhausted Min Yoongi. The rest of the group huddle at the corner of the street, watching tentatively as Jin’s vehicle pulls up into the parking structure of an enormous, expensive apartment complex. Their jaws drop to the floor upon witnessing their eldest member whip out a shiny gold key card for the security guard to scan.

“Why does Hyung have access to the building?”

“There’s no way he owns an apartment here,” Namjoon mutters under his breath, though his fellow members can hear him clearly, “I know for a fact that with all our paychecks combined, we’d barely make rent for this place. Our recent comeback has only gained enough traction to keep our name in the local media… I mean, yeah, Hyung comes from a wealthy background, but he’s not the type to live in such an extravagant, flashy, high-end place…”

“Who cares,” interjects Hoseok. “Jin-Hyung has been hiding this from us and we have the right to know what he has been keeping from us. This could affect all of us if we don’t confront him now!”

Though several of them wish to protest against confronting their eldest member and friend, they opt to remain silent; sleepiness wins over any rational thoughts.

“We better go now,” Jimin notes with a nod of his head in the direction of the parking structure, “I think we’ll lose Jin if we keep standing around here looking suspicious.”

Hurriedly, the group of men jog over to the entrance of the parking lot and come face-to-face with a young man in a uniform with “security” stitched onto his jacket and cap. Before anyone has the chance to speak up, the guard holds out his hand, requesting for the men’s key cards.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon apologizes, though he has no reason to do so, “My friends and I are trying to catch up to our friend, Kim Seokjin. He’s the one you let through a couple minutes ago.”

The security guard eyes them with a look of doubt; considering that the boys are wearing their night clothes beneath their coats and have their phones and wallets clutched to their chests, nobody can blame him for being skeptical. Shaking his head, the young man explains that without proper authorization, unidentifiable persons are not permitted on the property.

“Wait!” An idea pops into Hoseok’s head, preventing the guard from stating the need for them to leave the premises. The dancer digs through his wallet momentarily before pulling out a card and handing it to the young man. “Since you don’t want to let random people in, you can keep track of us by taking our ID cards! That way, if something happens, you’ll have our information!”

“Oi, are you trying to insinuate that we have devious plans,” grumbles Yoongi.

Looking at the security guard with a bright smile while ignoring the rapper’s comment and the protests of the other members behind him, Hoseok waves his ID around animatedly until the young man finally caves in, prompting the dancer to cheer loudly— he is quickly shushed by Namjoon.

“Thank you so much, Mister… uh.”

“Choi,” the guard replies. “Choi Il-Seong.”

Each member thanks the young man as the duck under the barrier arm gate, only to run back to the man when they realize that they have no clue where the lobby is located. A finger gesturing to the double-doors by a pillar is all they need to see before they take off running once more, determined to get this over with and return to the warmth of their beds.

As soon as they throw open the doors to the lobby, all six men can spot their hyung standing at the receptionist desk, chatting with the woman seated behind the counter.

“Ah hah!” Hoseok pushes past his friends to make his way up to Jin, jabbing an accusing finger into the older male’s chest, effectively startling said male. “I knew you were up to something!”

“W-Wh…What are you guys even doing here?”

From his spot by the doorway, Namjoon brings up a hand to hide his cheeks, which are flushed due to his second-hand embarrassment, as he apologizes for causing a scene, “Hoseok-Hyung made us follow you all the way out here because he had a hunch about you keeping something from us.”

“Like I mentioned before leaving,” Jin sighs, irritated by his friends’ prying actions, “I have plans with a friend. The lovely receptionist was just about to call a guard to escort me up to my friend’s apartment before you kids rudely interrupted.”

The younger members gasp in awe upon learning that their hyung needed to be escorted up to an apartment by a security guard, while Namjoon furrows his brows, deep in thought. He gathered that the complex can only be afforded by wealthy individuals, but having guards escorting visitors is something unheard of to him.

Who is this friend of Jin’s?

“So, does this friend have anything to do with our dance practice,” the young dancer inquires with a sly smirk. The sudden silence in the lobby, along with Jin sputtering and stumbling over his words, is all Hoseok needs to continue pushing for an answer. “Don’t try to lie, Hyung. I saw you slip the disc with our recorded routine into your bag, and it’s not the first time I’ve noticed you do that, plus you always leave dressed in comfortable clothes you save exclusively for dance practices.”

Again, Jin is unable to come up with a response. After several minutes of incoherent noises, he relents, sighing heavily. He planned to break the news to his friends after their comeback, but given the current circumstances, Jin has no choice but to push it up to tonight. The man runs a hand through his hair, sighing once more before motioning for his friends to follow him as the familiar face of the guard enters the lobby.

“Follow me, but just…please don’t say anything once we get there. I want to be able to explain myself before anyone jumps to any conclusions.”

With much difficulty, all eight men magically squeeze into the elevator, eyeing random corners awkwardly in an attempt to distract themselves from the fact that they are tightly packed together. An audible exhale from each person is heard once a ringing sound is heard, allowing for everybody to rush out past the doors, with the exception of the security guard, who simply waves to Jin with a smile and returns to the elevator.

It only takes the group a couple steps to the left to reach their destination. Before Jin makes any movement to knock on the door, he turns to face his friends, a serious expression painted on his face.

“Please,” he pleads, his face transitioning in reflection of his anxious thoughts. “Please don’t jump to conclusions and make a huge scene.”

“Yah! What could be so bad that you have to hide it from us and be worried about our reaction to meeting this ‘friend?’” Yoongi scowls at Jin, imaginary daggers shooting out from his eyes.

“Well, you see…”

[Next Part]

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withyouandthemoon · 5 years

Text

Daddy Issues

Author’s Note: This was, to my utter embarrassment, inspired by a line from what I believe was the second episode of TO S5. Something along the lines of “there are certain damages that only a father can do”, which I find completely nonsense. Many moons later that disdain along with @garglyswoof‘s kind prompting finally pushed me to write this down. Set sometime in the future where KC are in an established relationship; probably a few decades after TVD 4x23 and anything Canon after that is not acknowledged here. It started off like a ton of lemons (I love this obsolete term that I recently just learned) but is actually so filled with fluff it’s more like lemon meringue. My teeth hurt in the end.

When Caroline was young she was terrified of flying. Granted she didn’t flew that much to start with – just a couple of times to visit her dad and that one single time when her mom took her to see her aunt in Florida.

Each and every one of those times she was scared out of her mind. Her imaginations ran the wildest when they were backed up by data, and she had always been a thorough researcher. She’d clamp her little hands so hard on the armrests to crush the images of falling and explosion in her head as the giant plane sped up, hard steel digging into her back like some unnameable dark force with an evil mind of its own.

And then she’d be hovering midair. Her heart floating in her already floating body, all trapped up in a floating still iron box.

Caroline thought she’d loathe that feeling all her life and avoid it at all cost.

Little did she know how drastically feelings changed over time, especially when you hold a few decades, or even centuries of it in your palm to squander about.

Then flying became soaring. Floating, freeing. Looking down on the ground from miles above felt like a metaphor for the immortality of which she was still just beginning to get a grasp.

And that was probably why Caroline found herself fantasizing about what she used to fear the most when Klaus’ controlled warm breaths scorched her inner thighs. He was taking his sweet time tonight, lips hovering near her soaked core, the tip of his tongue ghosting her sensitive skin now and then, but never fully landing. A frustrated half-sigh-half-moan slipped out of her throat and he merely hummed, the sound buzzing through her suddenly arched spine like the engines of a plane, lulling, but exhilarating all the same.

“Easy, there.” His thumb gently rubbed under her knee while a light kiss grazed her abdomen, “we haven’t even started yet.”

And how she yearned for that. Speeding. Gaining traction. Pulling up and up and up until she was blinded by the sun blasting over the hazy clouds.

His low chuckle traveled along her midsection to the valley between her breasts, and he licked her there as if tasting her wandering thoughts, “what lovely images are you conjuring up this time, sweetheart?”

She knew what he was asking about. After decades of roaming the earth it was no news to Caroline that people saw or heard the strangest things during sex. But surprisingly she had quite the artistic mind when it came to sex with Klaus (sometimes she suspected she was channeling him but she would never feed that to his egotistical ass). The first time he coaxed the imaginative painting of undulating hills swirling with colors out of her, he stared at her with such awe and fervor in his eyes like she’d just single-handedly invented the freaking impressionism. Ever since then he became quite obsessed with her little “sex visions”, and it was not like Caroline didn’t enjoy it.

But not now. He was wordy when he got artistic, and wordy meant slow.

So she dragged him up by his dangling necklaces, stealing a bruising kiss for her own before replying, “I’m not telling you if you keep this game up.”

“What game?” He feigned innocence, like those fingers so skillfully fiddling with her nipples weren’t even his.

She couldn’t quite swallow her gasps, her eyes half-closed from the charges spreading from her chest, but not enough to shut out the smug grin on his face.

Well if this was the road he wanted to go down, then she might as well spice things up a bit more.

Silently she began to nibble at the side of his neck, Klaus’ head immediately falling back exposing his throat where tiny sounds of satisfaction were rumbling. To this day it amazed Caroline a little when he acted this open around her, and she felt herself growing wetter at the thought.

Sucking on his pulse point, she reached over to the glass jar on their nightstand and sank her hand into the sea of notes inside.

The jar was Caroline’s two-year anniversary gift to Klaus, filled with both of their fantasies and dirty thoughts. Klaus was, of course, most obliged to try it out as often as possible, but now over one year later they’d still not run out of ideas – not completely unbelievable considering they’d both been caught on more than one occasion sneaking new notes into the “kink jar”, as dubbed by one very disturbed and disgusted Rebekah Mikaelson.

Caroline laughed inwardly at Rebekah’s scrunched-up face as she fished around the little pieces of paper. But before she could draw one out, her hand was enclosed in his, the heat of his palm almost burning her.

She looked up into Klaus’ teasing eyes, “I’m feeling adventurous tonight.”

“When are you not?” He was idly rubbing circles on the back of her hand through the thin notes, and she almost moaned out at the feeling of the rough edges of paper scraping against her skin. When did the back of her hand become an erogenous zone anyway? Damn it, focus.

She raised an eyebrow challengingly, “can’t keep up?”

His grin grew wider at that, “I’m not complaining.”

Snatching a piece of note from between her fingers, Klaus withdrew his hand and lay back against the headboard, his other arm instinctively circling around Caroline as she snuggled close to take a peek. She was startled by Klaus’ sudden growl of anger, and she hurried to grab the note before he crushed it in his iron grip.

Apprehension clouded her mind as she read the now slightly smudged words: Call Me Daddy.

That definitely hit a sore subject if there ever was one. And judging by Klaus’ murderous expression she doubted he threw that one in just to test his own limits. So that left…

“Kol.” Klaus bit through his clenched teeth, confirming her suspicion.

“But how…?”

Their bedroom was spelled so that only the two of them could enter, and anyone who dared to break the barrier would leave marks wherever they touched inside the room. Not to mention that with Klaus’ hybrid senses, he could probably detect any past intruders from a mile away. To wipe all the traces Kol would have to have some assistance in the form of witchcraft, but Caroline still vividly remembered the disastrous fight Klaus had with him just days ago about Kol “childishly antagonizing all the covens in the city”.

“Kol has always had a way with witches,” Klaus huffed, “if he’s not acting like a raging imbecile.”

“So you’re telling me that he somehow made up with the witches, which I believe was what you expected in the first place, and he got them to help him get inside our bedroom to mess with our sex life, just so he could get back at you because you yelled at him for making an enemy of the witches that ended up helping him?” Caroline rolled her eyes, “I know I’ve said this a million times but you all are a twisted bunch.”

Klaus’ lips lifted smugly, “he’s my brother after all.” In the blink of an eye the smirk turned into a scowl, “but if he thought he could get away with this he was sorely mistaken. I do not care if he’s restored some sort of rapport with the witches. This crossed a line.”

“It can’t really be that bad.” She sighed, sitting up straight, nudging Klaus’ head to settle on her chest before he could protest. She could feel the little puff of air he let out warm on her skin, his long dark blonde eyelashes casting shadows on those high cheekbones that felt way too petulant for a thousand year old monster.

“I will be the judge of that.”

The moonlight was shining favorably on all his good features, and from Caroline’s vantage point he almost looked like one of those ancient statues she saw during their never ending world tours, the perfect human specimen perpetuated by hands that were long dead. But those masterpieces of marble were truly strong, ageless, fearless.

He wasn’t.

He was a thousand years of weaknesses and struggles, sleepless nights and blood-soaked frenzies sedimented into one.

And he was resting so petulantly, yet so contently on her very chest.

Without lifting his eyes Klaus seemed to have sensed the little smile tugging at the corner of her lips, “what? No name-calling? Not a word of ‘get over it?’” His arm idly went around her waist, bringing their bodies even closer, “that’s a first.”

She didn’t answer him for a while, just silently playing with the soft curls on his nape. And for once Klaus didn’t rush her, his artistic fingers drawing sketch after sketch on her side. Neither of them was particularly good at the patience thing, but somehow they found the rhythm as the years passed, finding each other more fascinating than the heavy stress of silence.

“I was just thinking…none of us seemed to have won the lottery in the father department. I mean, mine left when I was ten; Bonnie’s father was practically absentee when we were growing up, and from what I heard the Salvatores nearly got killed by theirs. Elena’s father was probably the only nice one, but it turned out he was a heartless psycho who tortured vampires for science.” She couldn’t help a small shudder when she mentioned that piece of information, and Klaus’ arm instantly tightened around her.

“Among the lot of us, we could run an awards for the shittiest dad.” She continued with a light shake of her head, “on a scale of one to ten your dad can get, like a nine or something.”

This time Klaus looked up at her, his face more incredulous than angered, which Caroline took as a good sign.

“What? There must be something even worse than wanting your own kids dead.”

“Caroline, are you seriously trying to rank this medley crew according to paternal ‘shittiness’?” She could hear the air quote loud and clear in his words.

Shrugging, Caroline reached for his hand, now stilled on her ribcage because of her ever-so-whimsical idea, and guided it to resume its drawing patterns, “I’m tempted. This sounds like there could be a nice colored histogram involved. I’ll even let you pick your own color – I call dibs on hot pink though.”

Klaus snorted, clearly knowing her enthusiasm was only half-faked, “I promise I won’t fight you over it, love.”

“Good. Because you don’t stand a chance anyway.” She retorted smugly, bending down to press a kiss at the crown of his head.

She knew very well that vampires didn’t have a heartbeat. It took her a long time to get used to not feeling it in herself, and even longer to stop looking for it in others. But after that, she started to notice the tells. More importantly, she started to notice his tells.

How his lips hung open, how his eyelashes shook infinitesimally, how that tiny pause in his even breaths segued so smoothly into the next as if nothing happened…all the little signs screaming in silence the skip of a nonexistent heartbeat.

So she snuggled her face into his hair further, curling around him to ease the tightening of her own dead heart, their bodies molding into each other like a gender-reversed version of that famous painting of Gustav Klimt’s.

Sometimes she couldn’t fathom if she was looking at the world through his eyes, or he hers.

“How come you speak so lightly about such things?” Klaus’ voice was barely above a whisper, contorted emotions hidden well in the creases of hushed breaths.

“And how can you give them so much power?” She pushed back the question softly, the knuckle of her finger grazing his jaw line, “I thought it was human nature to forget.”

And she’d experienced that nature more and more now that she was almost in her fifties in human years. They were, in the end, selfish and cowardly creatures who shed memories like they shed hair. Because hair ate at your body, and memories ate at your soul.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine clinging to the past for a century, let alone a millennium.

His quiet sigh weighed heavy on her heart, “maybe so. But may I remind you that we are no longer human, and common senses don’t necessarily apply to our cases.”

“Yet you’re the one who keeps letting him get to you.”

She knew she was treading on thin ice, but she never could hold her tongue in front of him. Feeling him tensing she leaned in to press another kiss on his temple, his body now almost completely wrapped in hers. They felt like one bizarre creature with tangled limbs and ragged breaths, his lashes shuttering against her chin its disproportionally-tiny, erratic heart.

“Caroline…”

He spoke her name in a way that nobody else would. Like a whole new language that consisted of only one word, and every part of speech was just her, her, her.

But somehow she always understood him perfectly.

“It was the summer when I was twelve that it really sank in – that I couldn’t count on my dad.” She started talking without prompt, her other arm reaching over to circle him in a full embrace, “sure he was gone before that, but we talked on the phone, he’d send me gifts and sometimes visit, so it didn’t feel that bad.”

She felt him settle further into her. There were subjects that Klaus would never go into details. But from time to time he’d listen quietly as Caroline talked about them, without a word of response. It’d become yet another one of their things – those feelings that he didn’t dare utter, that he hadn’t quite figured out even after a thousand tumultuous years flowing through her like a dark stream, brought into the freeing daylight by her soft voice. In those moments he’d just hold her tighter, as he did now.

“That summer I went to stay with him and Stephen. We had so much fun together. I’d never seen my father so happy and carefree, always laughing, joking, trying out new things. Stephen brought that out in him. He was not bad himself either. I almost forgave him. But then it was the end of the summer and of course, I didn’t want to leave.”

She’d used up all her tricks but her dad still wouldn’t budge, looking at her apologetically, his eyes full of things that she didn’t understand then.

“My dad said I had to. Period. I was upset, but more than that the whole thing just felt so unfair. My dad chose to leave, he chose to start a new life without me, and he chose to send me back. But why didn’t I get to choose?” She sighed into the side of his neck, “but it turns out life just doesn’t give you that many choices, no matter who you are.”

She trailed her fingers down his vertebrae, one bone at a time. She’d watched him turn several times over the years, her hand helplessly trying to soothe the pain bursting out from the seams. Yet now they rested so cluelessly under her finger tips, little fossils of suffering with invisible secrets and puzzles carved into them, but no answers.

“I was mad for a month or two. About my dad, of course; but also because Kimberly Fell told everyone I kissed her douchebag of a brother and got dumped, which was the biggest lie I’ve ever heard. Hello? Alex Fell was so not my type!” Klaus was chuckling softly into the crook of her shoulder. She slapped him on the back without much force, her own laugh bubbling in her chest, “anyway, I’m just saying that it was…ordinary, you know. He was not father of the year, but he was hardly the cause of everything gone wrong in my life.”

Klaus’ voice startled her a little, hoarse from the long silence on his part, “as I’ve told you a long time ago, the issue with my father was slightly more complicated than that.” But unlike the first time, instead of harsh he just sounded pensive, his hand still caressing her side in its own accord.

“Well I suppose so,” her voice took on a teasing tone, “but I doubt you are a special scattered spot outside the normal distribution curve.”

“I see that statics course of yours has proven useful.” Klaus huffed a laugh, fingers traveling to the dips of her lower waist, making her shiver involuntarily.

“I told you college education had its perks.”

She never finished her first undergrad, opting for traveling the world on her own instead. When she mentioned getting back to it one more time a few months ago, Klaus was more than supportive – at least about everything aside from her class schedule.

“It still doesn’t make up for those mornings when you leave me in bed alone.” He sucked at the sensitive spot between her clavicles, his full lips forming a perfect pout to prove his point.

Caroline shoved him away and flipped them over, straddling him with a triumphant smirk, “don’t be a baby.”

His hand instantly landed on her hips, squeezing her so deliciously she let out a gasp, “fine, then be a good student and tell me where I fall on your normal distribution curves.”

She ground her ass into him, eliciting a low moan, “normal is never the word to use when it comes to my curves, and you know it.”

“My apologies, love.” He looked up at her, all flashy dimples and shiny curls, “I hereby declare that from this day forward your curves will only be referred to as ‘sensational’ and ‘out of this world’.”

“You better.” She leaned over to kiss him, only to feel the discarded piece of paper under her palm. Frowning, she threw it aside, “and for this once I’m not against you straightening Kol up a little. He has no business in The Jar. And ‘daddy’? Seriously? You are at least a grandpa.”

Klaus rolled his eyes, “if we absolutely have to play this game I prefer the vampire term ‘sire’.”

“Huh.” Caroline inclined her head teasingly, “If you want to get into the technicalities, I believe you are my great-great-great-grand-sire. You are practically my ancestor in vamp terms.”

“You make me feel so old, sweetheart.”

“Hate to break it to you, but as a vampire you have to change your perception of time.” Caroline wiggled her brows as she repeated his words to him, “apparently saying you are old is like, the highest compliment.”

“Apparently.” Klaus hummed as he palmed her breasts leisurely, thumbs brushing over her hardening nipples and Caroline’s head fell back in the surge of pleasure.

Still she never was one to back down from a banter, even if her voice was husky from the lust and anticipation, “so suck it up, sweetheart.”

The next second he was shifting their position so he was sitting up with her still in his lap, his hot lips grazing her left breast while his hand kept kneading the other, “I promise to start sucking if you keep up the compliments.”

But before she could utter a word his mouth was on her, soft lips enveloping her nipple with his tongue skillfully brushing the tip. Caroline sighed loudly, her fingers once more sinking into his curls in abandon.

“Oh yes sire!” She arched her back, pushing her breasts into his head-reeling ministrations, her moans half from arousal and half her playful streak, “you are so old, I just love how old you are…” she ground her burning core into his already rock hard cock, “yes, ravish me, punish me, hit me with your long hard cane!”

Klaus suddenly let go of her nipple, pulling her down for a wet kiss, the sound of laughter shook from their chasing tongues all the way down to their joint hips.

He was still laughing when he pulled back, his hand brushing the fallen hair out of her face gently, “this reminds me of…never mind.”

“What?”

Caroline studied him suspiciously. He looked…embarrassed, with his eyes downcast and the annoyed little lines forming at the corners of his eyes. And then something clicked.

“You were thinking of When Harry Met Sally weren’t you? Admit it!”

She’d all but forced him to watch with her all the chick flicks that’d ever been made, some more than once, or try five times. It was not her fault that the hybrid had an impressive memory.

“I most certainly did not!” He narrowed his eyes, pulling her closer into his lock of iron-hard arms, “how dare you sully my name like this, young lady.”

“Whatever you say, great-great-great-grand-sire.”

Caroline batted her eyelashes at him, curling the last word around her tongue like he so often did. She gasped when his cock grew even larger underneath her, vibrating against her soaking slit with a mind of its own.

“Are you actually turned on by that?” She faked incredulity while furtively rubbing her core over him, earning a growl deep in his throat.

He looked at her long and hard, sweet and tender, his face still lit up by a playful smile yet his eyes burned into hers as if fusing them together, even if they were already so close she tasted him at the back of her tongue with each breath she took, “Caroline, you make me want to kiss you, spank you, fuck you senseless and have a good laugh with you, all at the same time.”

He slowly leaned into her, their cheeks touching inch by inch and he was whispering into her ear like the whole world had silenced to a halt, “there is no bigger turn-on than that.”

She laughed softly, her hands raising to cup his cheeks, murmuring an indiscernible “good” before she dove into him, and felt like flying.

#klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline drabbles #my fic #i have no idea how to write fluff so this was probably a mess #also i haven't written in so long so even if this is indeed a mess i'm putting it out there #a belated happy birthday to me and an early happy valentine's to everyone #i'm so glad school's canceled due to the storm or i'd never finish this #z writes

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today-only-happens-once · 6 years

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Further than Falsehoods: a Look at Deceit

The following post is taking a look at some aspects of Deceit in order to point out the ways his manipulation is much more than just straight up lies. I know Thomas and Joan (Joan especially) put a lot of thought and work into creating Deceit as a character, and some aspects I haven’t seen talked about in the fandom yet. So I wanted to kind of take some time to explain my read on Deceit so as for me to express my huge appreciation for just how much thought and nuance and work must have gone into his development.

So basically, this is an absurdly long analysis of Deceit in “Can LYING be Good??” with the aim of bringing to light some things Joan and Thomas did in his character design that I think deserves more recognition for the thought that had to go into it.

Disclaimer: In no way is this supposed to be a justification for manipulation and lying. There is substantial conversation about both lies and manipulation below the cut though.

With that said, let’s begin.

First of all--and this has been touched on by multiple people in the fandom--all of the little details when he was disguised as Patton that hinted that he wasn’t really our Happy Pappy Patton? Brilliant move. Some of these hints include:

he just “appears”, he doesn’t rise up

using his old cardigan instead of the cat hoodie

“I’m silly like that”

checking his hand as if for notes while saying “Right? you know how I love cartoons?”

his growing excitement (rather than discomfort like Roman had expected/shown himself) as the lying scenarios progress

“Yeah, everyone knows where babies come from. Messenger falcons.” (real Patton mentions storks in another video)

Now let’s look at how Deceit manipulates, shall we? Yes, he tells blatant lies. But I think it’s a mistake to think that’s the extent of the manipulation he does in this video.

Although Logan has seemed to gain in popularity, previous episodes has Virgil specifically identifying Logan as the least popular character. That means identifying him as “everyone’s favorite character” is probably meant to be a falsehood (hah). Many others have pointed out the same thing. However, I think the manipulation runs a bit deeper here.. Not to over-infer, but I think it’s likely that Deceit realized getting Logan, the Voice of Reason, on his side (get it?) will help him in his further manipulation through establishing good rapport.

Invoking Immanuel Kant in the way that Deceit does--given what we understand his end-goal to be--is actually a very manipulative strategy. He wants to lead Thomas to make the decision to lie on his own. In using Kant, Deceit is doing a few things. One is that he is working to leverage a certain level of authority in knowledge here. This is taking a logos-based approach as a foundation (which is precisely why it impresses Logan). However, he pushes this logos-based approach by including the dilemma:

What if a known murderer came to your house, asking where your friend was so they could kill them? Would you tell the truth then?

The answer is, of course, an emphatic no. But Deceit is careful to point out that this philosopher who does not support lying would say “yeppers”. This therefore creates a doubt about perceiving lying is bad by using a pathos-based approach to discredit the logos he had just set up. What does this effectively do?

It eliminates the absolutes. There is no convincing Thomas that lying is always good, but Deceit can and does convince Thomas that it is not always bad by using both an extreme example and backing his argument up with “outside authority” on morals. He even gets Thomas to admit as much:

Deceit!Patton: So you think Kant is wrong?

Thomas: Yeah!

Even when Virgil attempts to call him out on “his” hypocrisy, Patton turns the confusion (at best) and/or accusation (at worst) around on Virgil by playing on a substantial part of his role as Anxiety:

Deceit!Patton: Well, it’s all about priorities, friendo. What’s more important to us? Joan’s feelings? Or honesty?

This attempt at manipulation also comes in later, as we will see in a bit.

After deciding to act our different scenarios, Roman assigns roles to everyone. Except Deceit claims the role with (arguably) the most control for himself:

And even when Roman gives him some push back, he knows just the right threads to pull to make sure he lands the role that puts him in the pilot seat for lying. It’s a dangerous position for the other Sides (and Thomas). It is precisely why he convincingly worms his way into it.

Given this power, Deceit showers Roman with compliments, perhaps to keep him receptive to feedback and more open to allowing “Patton” to have that control he usurped from him a moment ago:

But since Thomas tells the truth in this first situation, Deceit intervenes.

Deceit knows he still has to seem like Patton, so his criticism cannot be too harsh. However, as Deceit is trying to condition Thomas to lie through exposure and “practice”, so to speak, he also must convince Thomas that his first reaction is the wrong one. Thomas, of course, is hurt by this feedback as we see here:

This is such a quick moment, but I think it’s an important one that nods to the layers of Deceit’s character that comes into even more play later on. But his nod to the fact that deception hurts ourselves as much as it can hurt others is a seed that is planted here in this moment that grows much more later on in the episode.

Deceit tries to push past this moment by quickly asking to run the scene again and ignoring Thomas’ hurt and confusion here. Another hint that “Patton” is not as he claims to be. But had Deceit allowed anyone to dwell on this moment (including Thomas), it is likely the bit of control he had asserted over the situation would have quickly been revoked.

After the lying scenarios fall apart, Deceit becomes more desperate, and his manipulations become significantly less subtle.

Feeling that he’s losing traction, Deceit turns to a more common mode of manipulation through the question he poses to Thomas:

The implication being, as he has been hinting at through the entire video, that the only way to avoid Joan’s anger is to lie to them. There’s an assumption in this question that is clearly meant to direct Thomas’s line of thought. “You don’t wan’t to make Joan mad at you, do you?” is a question that everybody already knows the answer to. Of course Thomas doesn’t want Joan to be mad at him. The implication, however, is that the only way for Thomas to get this desired outcome is to lie to them.

Even when Thomas expresses doubt, Deceit then turns to someone else for back up. Specifically, the person who has been the easiest to convince thus far.

“You won’t if it’s done correctly. Right, Roman?”

At this point, Deceit seems to be seeking to put a kind of peer pressure on Thomas. He is grasping at straws. This is emphasized even further when--upon Roman and Logan drawing the important distinction between acting and deception--he turns to Virgil. Here, we see Deceit return (with less subtlety) back to the manipulative tool he hinted at in the beginning: he toys with Virgil’s fear of Thomas losing his loved ones (which was stated explicitly in Moving On Part 2).

“Virgil, buddy, uh, I know you weren’t too keen on it at first, but come on! Could you stand to lose the support of one of Thomas’ friends?”

This is perhaps the clearest example, to me, of how Deceit’s manipulation does not stop at simply “he says things that aren’t true”. Here, he is intentionally amplifying the potential of one of Virgil’s greatest fears so as to convince him to back his side of the argument. He manipulates the insecurity as a means of convincing.

And when Virgil just shuts him down (one of my personal favorite Virgil moments) Deceit uses the last tool in his belt: his physical deception in his appearance as Patton.

He points to himself to reassert and emphasize his physical presence and appearance. In saying “Virgil, it’s me. Aren’t we friends?” Deceit has been forced to use Patton’s reputation and relationships as a last attempt at manipulation for his own benefit. But here’s the thing:

Deceit has already become his own downfall in this moment. His desperation has led him to not act like Patton would or should. Virgil knows this, and that is precisely why this attempt also falls through. Deceit is entirely on his own at this point, and has become backed into a corner.

His desperation is no longer subtle. He is floundering, and his mask is slipping as a result. He becomes more straightforward, and much more forceful. At very end, he seems to be trying to become downright intimidating in his frustration:

Deceit!Patton: Thomas! I know this sounds backwards, but sometimes... lying is good!

Roman: Mm... but you’ve said before--

Deceit!Patton: I know what I said. It doesn’t matter. In this situation, it is the right thing to do. Period.

Thomas: Patton, no.

And finally when he loses the last of the influence and control he had, when Thomas decides that no matter how much it might hurt he must tell Joan the truth, Deceit gives up the charade.

Deceit knows that the game is up. Thomas has made up his mind, and there’s nothing Deceit can do about it. Before, his manipulations were more subtle and nuanced. Now? Now, Deceit’s motive has changed.

Deceit wants to be able to try again. He can’t do that if he becomes truly unmasked, and Thomas is able to identify and name him. So for a brief moment, Deceit is all about keeping the mouths shut of the other Sides, even if his performance as Patton has largely become abandoned.

So long as he can keep their mouths shut, Deceit can try again. Manipulation can warp our sense of reality, and nothing expresses that in the Sides’ dynamic as clearly as literally stealing the words out of Logan’s mouth and muffling them.

However, Thomas ultimately has the agency here, as these are facets of his personality (as Virgil emphatically reminds him). Once again, Deceit attempts to manipulate the people around him. In this case, by potentially scaring Thomas.

This backfires, of course. Thomas reacts to being taunted in such a way by demanding he be told. As a result, Deceit is finally fully unnmasked.

And here, we see a final shift in Deceit’s motives, I think. He has been revealed. Thomas knows about him. He can no longer stop that from happening, but he can influence the impression he leaves and the ways he is perceived as a threat to Thomas. Here’s something that I think is really clever about his character: it’s not until this moment that the whole “Deceit just tells blatant lies” really gets under way, and it gets started immediately.

Boldfaced lies Deceit tells after he is unmasked:

Who’s she? Never heard of her.

Love the new outfit, Roman.

And Virgil, I adore the more intense eyeshadow. It totally doesn’t make you look like a raccoon.

[V: Did you just finish washing some dishes?] Yes.

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

I am and always have been Patton.

You have no morality.

I mean that didn’t hurt me, at all.

This all went according to plan.

You’ve seen the last of me.

This is almost every line of dialogue Deceit has after he is revealed. But he didn’t speak in such blatant lies when disguised as Patton, even though it was still Deceit’s words and actions throughout. For me, that means that those lies are a deception not only in their meaning, but in their intent as well. Deceit wants to seem like less of a threat than he actually was posing through his many layers of complex manipulation earlier in the video.

In other words, we shouldn’t be quick to forget that the deception incurred when disguised as Patton was still very much Deceit. He is not merely who he is only after he is unmasked.

Additionally, Logan helps us understand the many layers Deceit represents: lying to ourselves being an extremely important and often overlooked one, I think. As Logan says, “you placed distance between who you are, and the lies that you tell. [Deceit] is responsible for your doing so”. He gets his power, in fact, from Thomas lying to and/or deceiving himself, more than from lying to another.

Frankly, I think Deceit in this video was a brilliantly nuanced and complex character for what he represents. The exposition provided by Logan means that Deceit’s role and operation in relation to the other Sides was fascinatingly powerful. He’s a fascinating character construction, and I give huge props to Joan and Thomas for their development of such a complicated character. Clearly so much thought went into him, and I can’t wait to see what else they may have in store.

#ts deceit #sanders sides #deceit sanders #analysis #meta #lies #manipulation #joan #thomas sanders #this is really long wow #deceit is a really well designed character #in my opinion

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mentalcurls · 5 years

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1. Sembri una pu***na

So I started the all-Skam Italia rewatch last Sunday and it turns out I have a lot to say about it. Like, four pages on Word of stuff to say. It took me three days to get evrything out and make it readable. So here, for you reading pleasure, my thoughts on ep.1 season 1 “Sembri una pu***ana”. There’s some kind of heavy stuff and I draw some parallels to my personal experience, since I was, unce upon a time, a teenager and a student at the same school all the highschoolers in SkamIT attend, and I’m also beginning to do the Bechdel test on the episodes!

The montage at the beginning is really powerful when you link the images from Giovanni and Eva’s class’s time at the Succursale to Gio’s essay, that Eva’s reading in the background, in particular the first part: LudoBesse is basically telling us how much of a waste Eva thinks her and Laura’s friendship is to Laura now

Something else about Gio’s essay (as someone who attended classico): it’s a YES from me because criticizing liceo classico is peak classico culture, it’s a HELL NO because classico is actually the best school in the world and I sincerely hope that if anyone else but himself said/wrote that kind of stuff about his school Gio would be at their throats

Eva has that “seeing someone outside the school gates and static fills your ears” moment just like Marti when he sees Niccolò for the first time! Hers is of course with Laura and Sara, who are with... Silvia and Fede! I like that they showed us a bit of this friendship that we didn’t really get to see in the og.

Martino and that iconic first “A zozzoni!” ❤️

Marti and Gio are competing for who got the best grades in the History test and I have a lot to say about this: we know Gio has really high grades (we are told he has an average of 9/10 in Latin and he got 8,5 in History) and that thing he does, bragging about it with his friend, the friendly competition between them, the actual talking about his grades without worrying who’s listening to him? That shit wouldn’t have flied for me, a once-upon-a-time student of liceo classico with an average of 8/10 in Latin, 8/10 in Ancient Greek and 9/10 in History and in part it was because I didn’t have the best classmates, but for the most part I couldn’t have done that because I am a girl (and my friends and classmates were 98% female)

girls are socialized to be humble about accomplishments, first and foremost, to avoid bragging AND humblebragging as well, and to always care about other people and their feelings; basically, whenever the topic of marks and grades came up while I was in high school, I had to try my best to avoid disclosing my own; if they were brought up directly, say them as dispassionately as possible and then try to change topic; I had be conscious of the fact I was talking someone who had much worse grades than me most of the time, so I had to keep into mind their experience of finding things I found doable (like translating from Latin) extremely hard, of disliking subjects I enjoyed (and most of the time the professor who taught them too, especially when they’d recently gotten a bad mark) and of being frustrated by their grades. I could never have competed with any of my friends about who got the highest marks (most of the time there was actually a sort of “gallows humor” competition over who got the lowest). I couldn’t show I was happy about my good grades, because I’d get negative comments from my friends (yes, even close friends, people I get on with and love to this day) who would dismiss my accomplishment as obvious, something that came easily to me because I was a nerd (the translation in Italian is “secchiona” and it doesn’t have any of the “cute” connotations pop culture gave its English counterpart) and something I shouldn’t “show off”. On top of that, if something was hard for me, it was whatever and what right did I have to complain when I had such high grades anyways, it wouldn’t be a problem in the long run.

So yeah, Martino and Giovanni, right now I kind of hate you for not having to take on any emotional labour in these kind of situations and society for socializing males and females in different ways when it comes to accomplishments and for accepting different behaviours from boys and girls.

QED Gio and Marti turn to Eva and ask her about her mark, she’s reticent but they get an answer out of her (that is not even the truth) and they mock her for it. Yes it’s all fun and games but Eva’s mark is really bad compared to Giovanni’s and Martino’s (especially her real mark) and grades are important for teens, no matter how much they deny it, if nothing else then because they influence their relationship with their parents

you can see Eva is hurt by their careless mocking, by Gio’s fake attempt at placating with “stuff she’s good at” (among which is re-heating pre-cooked food which is at the same time a way to have her “stay in the kitchen” and not even be able to properly cook) and by the way he and Marti underestimate her and laugh at her in the following exchange, when Marti shushes her and she calls him “asshole” with that annoyed face. It’s silly, “loving” mockery but it affects people anyways and it shows a lack of empathy only guys are allowed. She’s expected to take it with good grace (and this takes additional emotional labour) because it’s just for fun and they’re friends and they don’t mean it, but it’s not fair

“There are no secrets in a couple, but there aren’t between friends either.” THE WAY MARTINO PUTS HIMSELF ON THE SAME LEVEL AS EVA in Giovanni’s life, straight away! This boy. And Gio agrees! That shit must’ve been so frustrating, poor Eva.

This conversation between Gio, Eva and Marti: G: Today we’re going to Elia’s place to study. E: Oh, so that’s what you’re calling it now, studying. M: Oh c’mon, 6 minus, shhh. is the beginning of the reoccurring dynamic between them in the season that will make Eva paranoid and will bring her to confronting Laura and to cheating aka Giovanni keeping a secret, lying to Eva about where he goes and what he does, Martino enabling him by misdirecting or distracting her or Gio doing it himself, then either or both the guys calling her crazy or paranoid for doubting their words. You know what’s that? It’s called gaslighting.

[Gaslighting means manipulating a person by psychological means into questioning his or her own sanity. It’s the same technique that, according to some of his critics, Donald Trump used to get gain traction with voters (see Trump giving “alternative facts” and dubbing the media that fact checked and corrected him “fake news”).]

[I’M NOT SAYING THAT GIOVANNI IS THE SAME AS TRUMP, I DON’T THINK THEY’RE THE SAME, I only want to present an example of how this form of psychological manipulation is an actual thing in the real word and is really effective and dangerous.]

I am aware that Giovanni is just a dumb teenager trying to hide his weed habit from his girlfriend, that Martino is just being a good bro and covering for his best friend, that they’re doing this without any malicious intent towards Eva and that she’s insecure all by herself. Still, gaslighting is not a behaviour our societies should excuse, especially because it’s usually practiced by the usual suspects over women and minorities. I’d never seen it pointed out in the context of Skam Italia so I thought I’d bring it up, especially in light of S2 and of the “unproblematic” label Gio’s been given. He’s not perfect, he does shitty stuff too, then afterwards he simply grows up and becomes better. Let’s not forget about it and celebrate the person he’s become.

Case in point is the whole 1.2 Online clip. This is conversation between Eva and Gio: G: My battery died. E: But you were on-line. G: No, I wasn’t, my phone died a couple of hours ago. E: But I saw you. G: Eva, I don’t know how it happened. There must be something wrong with my phone, I don’t know. Sometimes I see you online and you’re not, too. I mean, everyone knows it happens. We can Google it if you want. E: No, it’s okay. And where were you? G: At Elia’s. E: Till now? G: Yeah. E: That’s weird. I talked to Martino earlier and he said you guys left a while ago. G: Eva, what’s wrong? Martino left earlier and I stayed till now. What, you don’t believe? Don’t you trust me? Are you insane, uh? [G kisses E] Everything’s alright. Little koala? Little koala always works. [G carries E to her room, then they have sex.] Giovanni lies about his phone being dead, then tells Eva that her seeing him online is impossible or a fluke, that everyone knows those kind of flukes happen, then lies again about being at Elia, when she tries to expose him he adjusts and starts questioning why she doesn’t believe him, finally calling her crazy and distracting her with kisses and sex. This is gaslighting.

(I had actual chills as I watched the scene again and typed this.)

Those theatre kids are so awkward, but quoting weird passages from greek/latin/italian poetry by heart is peak liceo classico culture

unsupportive boyfriend Gio shows up again when Eva suggest they go to the Easter party: his first reaction is “What? Why? You don’t even like that”, so savage, but fair Eva reminds him he’s actually a loser who, at 16, plays card to have fun with his friends like a 60 year old

Gio is being an asshole, he only considers going with Eva’s suggestion in exchange for something, then guilts her into accepting his “deal” bringing up Marti’s difficult family situation and her grades, implicitly, by promising to volunteer for the philosophy oral test, plus he’s rude and insensitive af because he brings up her inviting a friends when he knows fully well that when they cheated on Laura she got completely cut off

this will show up again, but let me just start to say it in the first episode: how unfair is it for Eva to be suffering most of the consequences in her life for getting together with her best friend’s boyfriend, when Giovanni faces no consequences that we know of for cheating on his girlfrien? And how unfair it must feel, deep deep down, to Eva

then, when she agrees, he takes back his side of the deal and Eva has to say it’s fine, it’s nothing because he says sorry and that’s socialization kicking in, telling her not to be difficult, not to be needy and not to complain cause that’s annoying and girls guys want to date are not any of those things; honestly, the emotional labour Eva has to go through

that getting ready montage, Eva really goes full on revenge mode like Lady D and she’s fully feeling her oats

the first dress Eva tries on is the same we saw Laura wearing at the party, but Eva’s red while Laura’s blue: I put all my money o it being a dress they bought together and on it being kind of their go-to dress, Eva thought about wearing it to remind Laura of their friendship but in the end decided it would only make things harder

oh, the conversation with Laura at the bar. God, if the situation is this tense can you imagine being in the same class as her and as Gio six hours a day everyday? We’ve talked about how shit it must have felt for Niccolò to be in the same class as Marco Covitti in S2, but Eva’s situation is awful too. I wonder how much of that factors in her bad grades and troubles with school

how more people don’t ship Italian Evanora is beyond me, have you seen this interaction?

on the other hand, I wonder how much Eleonora thought about it later, about how she must have come on too strong, about how maybe Eva thought she was weird or hitting on her and how much that weighed on Eleonora not reaching out first again, cause she makes a face like she regrets her life the minute Eva walks away

it breaks my heart, honestly: Eva has just been told she’s a whore by someone she once considered a friend, but when she finds this person’s new friend, who she doesn’t know, crying in the bathroom she doesn’t bat an eyelash, reassures her and tries her best to help her (so much emotional labour that women “naturally” take on themselves because we’re taught to be empathetic and caretakers even when we’re ourselves in distress)

one question: if Federico Canegallo is as popular as the Villa crew seems to be, how the hell does nobody know him when Eva is looking for “Fede”? Besides, Silvia doesn’t even react to the fact that he’s a friend of Edoardo’s when she sees him in the bathroom!

the interaction between the two Fedes kills me in every version

ok fuck you Silvia for not even saying thanks for trying and looking at Eva like she’s a decerebrate

Bechdel test: the episodes passes the test because of the conversations between Eva and Laura (nice 😑), Eva and Eleonora (though they’re mostly talking shit about other girls, so still not very good) and Eva and Silvia (though we actually don’t know her name yet at this point, we can only guess it from context, so it’s borderline). So this is cute.

This post is part of my complete series of meta about Skam Italia season 1. If you’d like to read more of my thoughts about the other episodes, you can find the mastepost linked in the top bar on my blog under SKAMIT: EVA. Cheers!

#skam italia #skamit s1 #eva brighi #martino rametta #giovanni garau #laura pandakovic #federico canegallo #eleonora sava #silvia mirabella #skamit meta #1x01 sembri una pu***ana #a. writes

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firenationskydominion · 6 years

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Chapter 19: A Phoenix Rises again

A few days later Azula and Mya camped outside Capital City and prepared to enter at dawn. But how without risking being thrown into the dungeons? Azula got off the horse.

Az: My whole tush is sore.

M: You’ll get used to it. Try this Yoga pose, it shall relax your strained muscles.

Az: My father has secret tunnels which lead everywhere in the palace. It might well be that he is in there...

M: I know an entry point... but we need a disguise...

Mya was unknown to the FireNation people. Nobody had seen her from near. But that was different for Azula. Mya went to the city and bought two large hats.

Ozai woke and was upset. He felt empty. He had no plan. Nothing to do. Nobody to talk to. He was a ghost. He left his chamber and for a brief moment considered facing Zuko in an Agni Kai to demand back the throne. Who had tried to kill him? Zuko? Some General? His enemies were plenty, but did he have friends? He had visited his followers incognito and many really wished for him to return. He thought about Azula, Amon and Elua. He once had been such a sweet boy like Zuko, but Azulon had beaten him into shape. Ozai mourned himself, his sad childhood and his loneliness. He missed Mya, Amon and Azula. But seeing Amon and Azula would remind him constantly of Myas death. Yet the thought hovered over him all the time and no amount of evading it would soften the pain.

After exiting his bedroom he took the secret passages to a tunnel on the side of the throne room. He peeped through a hole and saw Zuko sitting on the elevated throne. The fire was off. He decided to prank Zuko and flicked his finger. The flames shot up and Ozai smiled.

Zuko was talking to his Generals when suddenly the flames around him ignited. He was startled and jumped up. The Kiyoshi warriors came in and checked the whole room. No intruders. Zuko had heard the silly stories of Ozais ghost haunting the palace. If he was a ghost, he was dead for good and Zuko had one worry less to fret about. A short while later a congregation of Generals entered the throne room.

After the attack on Ozai and Mya the Generals had feared that the deal was off, but Amon kept his word and the trade between the worlds had been coordinated by him and Azula. He never mentioned Ozai or Mya though, even upon request.

In the meantime Earth King Kuei was increasingly dissatisfied with the peace accord. He finally realized that he had been sidelined by the Fire Nation and started assembling ground troops. The Dai Li had always managed trade and Kuei on his own without their counsel was inept to make responsible decisions. Furthermore some secret Dai Li agents were sabotaging his efforts. His people were dissatisfied and he needed a war to keep their minds engaged. There was also turmoil and rumours about Ozais return. The common people iconified and exploited Ozai as a marketing gag for all sorts of products. He was far more popular now than during his reign. People were simpleminded and craved a strong leader. Zuko was seen as weak and doubtful.

Zuko noticed that the generals were dissatisfied. They asked him to take a stand and to send troops to face the Earth Kingdom offensive. Zuko was torn. He was pondering over what to do when the fires ignited again. Ozai stepped out of the flames like an apparition.

O: It’s time to decide son, or the generals will decide for you.

Zuko jumped up from the throne aghast.

Z: Father! You’re alive!

O: You all seem surprised to see me. Let me assure you, I am not a ghost. I see at least a few happy faces among you. Let me see who is the most shocked of all is most likely the person hiring archers to kill me... Zuko was it you? General Zheng? General Sako? I will find out eventually.

Zuko was nervous. What did his father want?

Z: A strange way to visit me to barge in like this on a counsel meeting...? Tell me, what do you want?

O: Oh, I was watching you, always wondering if you sent the arrows... patricide runs in our family... You had the wardens torture me before, so why not go a step further. I will not hold this against you. I know how difficult it is to decide wisely as a Firelord and that you lack the confidence that I always had.

Z: Do you want to fight me?

O: Not unless I must. I would like to spend a few days here. I have some private matters to attend to. Generals, who ever tried to kill me will most probably try again.

One of the Generals, a young handsome man, with black hair and golden eyes mustered up all his courage:

G: Firelord Ozai, please take back the throne! You have many loyal followers who are willing to sacrifice their lives for your victory!

Ozai smiled. He closed his eyes and paused, before addressing the generals. His voice was menacing and cool:

O: And I, what am I to do then? Kill my son and my brother in order to take the throne back? Are you suggesting treason against the acting Firelord Zuko, General Wuhan?

The Generals face went pale.

Ozai looked at Zuko measuring him up.

O: How does Firelord Zuko treat insubordination and attempts at treason? Will he lash out like I used to? Will he fight him in an Agni Kai to gain superiority? Or will he be lenient and in return suffer a hit from a poisoned arrow? Will he toss Wuhan in a cold jail cell to have him tortured like his own father or banish him to the colonies? I don’t fear to fight my son, if need be I’ll die in flames as our greatest heroes have. Whatever you choose, son, it will create bad blood, uprisals and sectarianism... But please, for the sake of our nation, make a choice!

Z: Why did you really return?

O: Mya is dead. This is still my house and I needed a place to stay. As simple as that.

Z: Mya dead? Was it the poisoned arrow?

Ozai bitterly said:

O: No, a bomb in a city far away in another world. It all seems so distant, now that I am back. Iroh was so adamant that I wanted the throne back, he attacked me.

Zuko stared at Ozai, shocked.

O: Don‘t worry, son. He should be alright. Nothing a cup of tea could not fix. Now please have the servants ready my chamber. I am tired and I want to rest.

The Generals and Zuko were confused. Ozai looked at their blank faces.

O: What are you waiting for?

Zuko ordered the servants to comply with Ozais wishes. Ozai was vigilant. He was baiting himself out, attempting to draw the culprit out of the shadows.

Zuko then dismissed all Generals, also Wuhan who was surprised and relieved to get away without any repercussions.

****

Elua was cooking her chicken broth when somebody knocked at her door. She opened only to find two ladies with enormous hats standing in front of her door.

E: I don’t buy anything and I do not want to hear about your saviour, thanks.

She prepared to shut the door but Mya told her about their identities and that they needed her help.

An hour later the broth was eaten and all three women wore Elua's old clothes. Three old ladies. They packed baskets with cookies and wine and left for the gate of Caldera city. At that moment, a few hundred messenger birds left the palace and flew into the sky. Upon arrival at the gate, they pretended to be old alumnae of Master Shinsendos Firebending school who were on their way to their school reunion. The guards were overjoyed and let them in without a hassle. With this story they proceeded further to the stables. Mya checked the loose floor board. Ozais uniform was hidden, his royal clothes were missing, he had been here.

Ozai was sitting in his room at his desk reading letters from his supporters. They even sent fanmail with pictures of him painted by their kids. He cringed, but his inflated ego forbid him to destroy depictions of himself, so he filed them meticulously. There was a knock on the door. General Wuhan was outside and bid to enter.

W: I have come to ask your forgiveness, Mylord. I had in no means intended to offend your feelings. I heard today that the news from the front are bad. Earth Nation smashed our battalion and many died. You, Mylord are popular, and the idea of your formal return to power gains traction with the commonfolk. You are supported by the Fire priests and the council of sages. I know I am risking my life talking to you, please forgive my insubordination. Do with me what you want, but please, I am begging you, do something about our weak defense.

O: Wuhan, I despise traitors, you should know me better. You are young though and yet a general. How come?

W: I fought bravely, but I was also lucky.

O: Very modest of you to downplay your role in the siege of BaSingSe. So you are saying they all want me back. You were a boy during my first reign. You never experienced my rule... You show courage, coming to my doorstep unannounced. You remind me of myself in younger years. You are dismissed.

Wuhan left light heartedly. He had left a lasting impression on Ozai. A courageous young man, with golden eyes and a very delicious looking tush.

Ozai left hurriedly to the throne room. Zuko was sitting on the throne. Ozai did not want to use the front door like a commoner with requests, nor the side door like a servant. He decided to enter through another side entrance from the entry hall which the Generals usually took.

O: Son, can we talk in private?

Z: I don’t know what you want to talk about...

O: The war... Kuei is gaining traction. I am a bit... worried.

Z: A battle lost is not a war lost!

O: Let me command the army. I‘ll crush Earth Nation.

Z: Kuei has no clue, it‘s the Dai Li who are mourning their loss of importance. I will never allow you to command my troops, you will overthrow me.

O: I have no plans to fight you. But Wuhan’s tactic was just a taste of what is about to come.

Z: I cannot please everyone.

O: You need to please the right people.

Maybe the people should decide what path they want to take. If they back you, the generals can‘t do much.

Z: Those bloodthirsty ingrates who whine about cabbage price hikes and who put up that ugly statue of yours.

O: Very unflattering, I agree with you. They totally missed my perfect cheekbones and abs! But listen, if they vote for you, you’ll be democratically legitimated! The Generals will have no choice. Let’s create a two party system. They can choose your way or my way. They will choose and nobody will be left to blame but themselves if we fail.

Z: You would win the election... and I would again be in defeat.

O: I always thought you were the leader who cared about the people. Win their hearts. I can give them fancy parades, but you can give them meaning and a future. Let‘s compete and see who wins. The colonies will vote for you, so will all those who lost kin in the war. Some old folks will vote for me out of loyalty. It will confirm your regency.

Zuko thought about it and finally caved in. They would first let the Generals assemble and appoint them as small parliamentary chamber. The ongoing offensive demanded swift action. They should freely choose whom they vowed to follow and the losers would respect the decision. After that they would prepare for elections in Fire Nation and the colonies to create a parliamentary monarchy with the Fire Lord as Head of State.

Ozai summoned the generals. They seemed to fear Ozai who was standing next to Zuko, who was seated on the throne and looked small in comparison. Ozai feigned to be absentmindedly and casually flicking fire with his fingers, but everyone who knew him well saw that he was alert. Every inch of his body was ready to strike. Zuko was already sidelined. Suddenly there was a commotion and the guards notified them of turmoil outside the gates of Caldera city. The families of the fallen soldiers of the most recent clash demanded Zuko to step down. They had been notified by birds from the palace about Ozais return. Ozai couldn’t resist a smile. Zuko had to watch helplessly as Ozai summoned the generals and asked them to vote for either his or Zukos leadership. Only a few dared vote for Zuko. Within less than an hour Ozai had taken over the reign again.

#Ozai #Firelord Ozai #Fire Nation #Zuko #Fire Lord Zuko #ATLA #avatar the last airbender #Fanfic #azula #uncle iroh

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tsaritsa · 6 years

Text

The Possession of Isra Wright / ch iii

this fic can also be found on ao3 or ff.net

FIRST CHAPTER PREVIOUS CHAPTER

The rebuilding Ishvallan community is rocked by the uncovering of an exorcism gone horribly wrong, resulting in the death of a young woman at the hands of her own family. General Roy Mustang and his team suddenly find themselves embroiled at the centre of a military scandal that threatens to not only undo their three years of hard work, but also the military itself.

It was a little after five before he finished in the bathroom – Roy, for all his gripes about water – was a terrible hogger of the shower and so by the time Riza had finished with her shower it was nearly time to go anyway. She was drying her hair roughly with a towel when she heard the scratching of claws and low whining at the bathroom door – Eliza had obviously woken up, no doubt with Hayate in tow.

“Roy!” she called out. “Eliza’s up!”

“Guess who caught dinner?” she heard sung from the lounge, and there was a sudden scampering of feet. She laughed quietly, before reaching for the tub of sunscreen on the shelf. Riza both loved and hated the summer season with equal passion – one could always rely on the weather in Ishval to be ridiculously sunny, and the days were long, but sunburn was a constant stress for her and though Roy loved drawing stupid constellations between her freckles the less damage the sun did to her the better. In their first year based at Aledia proper (once construction had been completed) there had been a day where she had forgotten to reapply the lotion – that evening having a sick mixture of fascination and revulsion at the blisters that had swelled up on her shoulders. Though they healed relatively quickly – Riza blessed the abundant aloe vera plants that grew well and were plentiful in the desert climate – it had been a cautionary tale in remembering to cover up: hence, there was rarely a day here where she would not slather on the lotion and wear a janhe where possible.

She left the bathroom carrying the container, and strolled down to the lounge, where Roy was sprawled out on the couch, Eliza licking his face something awful and Hayate watching with interest, tail thumping heavily on the floor. She sighed in disappointment and sat down cross legged by the coffee table, placing the sunscreen on top of a large stack of files.

“That is disgusting.”

Roy turned his face to see her, and stalled Eliza’s frantic tongue with a hand. “You just wish it were you,” he replied snidely, fingers combing through the dog’s plush fur. Riza snorted and unscrewed the lid of the sunscreen.

“My heart aches to be near yours whenever we are apart, dearly beloved,” she deadpanned, smoothing the lotion over her arms. “I’m guessing you already fed them the leftovers?”

“Yeah, Hayate ate them up like nobody’s business. Eliza didn’t want any.”

“Really? That doesn’t seem like her.”

Roy shrugged, dropping a kiss on the Eliza’s muzzle. “They weren’t the healthiest looking fish – and she probably knows she’ll get better food at the festival anyway. Such a clever girl!” he cooed, scratching her ears. Eliza yipped happily.

Riza smiled at the two, rubbing some of the lotion behind her ears. “Are you ready to go?” she asked, rubbing excess lotion from her hands onto her pants and stood up, scratching Hayate’s head.

“Yeah, whenever you want to go,” Roy replied absentmindedly. “I heard there may be fireworks tonight.”

Riza’s head shot up. “Really?” she asked, fingers paused on Hayate’s head. “Where did you hear that from?”

“Havoc. I think he may have put in a few requisitions while we weren’t looking.”

Riza snickered. “Sounds like something he’d do. Perhaps we shouldn’t bring the dogs, then.”

Roy made a discontented noise. “Didn’t think about that,” he grumbled, hands stalling on Eliza’s ears for a moment. “But they haven’t been out today – they need the fresh air more than we do...”

Riza chewed on her lip in thought. “I could run them back before the fireworks begin – do you know when they’re going to start?”

He shook his head, and shifted on the couch, sitting upright and moved Eliza to the ground, ignoring the little dog’s whines and frantic attempts to jump back up onto her owner. “Let me go makes some calls and I’ll find out when this is happening.” He stood up, stretched, before moving towards the hallway. Eliza trotted after him, tail wagging furiously.

Hayate huffed, licking Riza’s wrist for attention. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been ignoring you, haven’t I?” The dog barked in response, and she laughed. “C’mon,” she said, bending down to pick up the container of sunscreen. “Let’s go give you a brush before you get all dirty again.”

The air was a little cooler by the time they actually stepped out of their apartment building, Hayate and Eliza barking happily at each other and frantically trying to sniff everything they possibly could that was in reach. The sounds and smells of the festival were already present in the air, and the large bonfire in the centre of the town square was a reflection of the now fiery sky – all manner of reds, yellows and oranges were striping and blooming across the sky as the sun lazily made the last leg of its journey towards the clear horizon. Riza turned her head to look at the other half of the sky – the sandstorm was looming even closer now, growing darker in colour as the setting sun turned the normally golden sand all shades of burgundies and browns. Roy caught her line of sight, and a worried look crossed his face.

“How long did Basir say it would take to get here?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“It’s not due to hit Aledia until early tomorrow morning,” she replied. “But I’ve certainly never seen one this big before – and certainly not that far away.”

“At what point do you think it stops being a good omen?” he asked jokingly, “I don’t even think the tanks we’ve brought in will be able to hold all the water that’ll be coming…”

“There’s that underground bore too, don’t forget,” Riza replied. “Hahm has one of the catchments leading into it: with the amount of water on the way it should soften and resettle the clay – and then we can celebrate a second water source.”

“Didn’t he also say there was a chance that the clay could just slip through instead of plugging up?” He retorted as they neared the front of the Ahmanhe. “All that water could just slip through the cracks-”

“He’s done as much testing as he can with what little resources we could offer him,” Riza countered firmly, waving at a few passers-by as the sounds and smell of Lāeshembha grew louder with each passing step. “It won’t be on our heads if it doesn’t follow through – but Samir agreed it was worth a shot. He’s hardly one to jump to conclusions.”

Roy frowned. “I’ll be having words with him if it doesn’t work,” he said carefully, eyes darting around at the crowds of people filling up in the town square. “We cannot afford to waste what is freely given to us.”

“I know,” Riza soothed. “I doubt you will be the last, either.”

The Ahmanhe appeared before them, as the sights and sounds of Lāeshembha surrounded them fully. The air was electric – at every turn there was a food stall, people in conversations that were equal parts Ishvallan and Amestrian. Children scampered around the groups of adults, shrieking with laughter as they played a variation of tag.

“Riza!”

A familiar voice had Riza twisting her head up to the steps of the Ahmanhe. “Hana! Ishvakale!” she exclaimed. Turning quickly to Roy she flashed him a brilliant smile. “I’ll see you later – take care of Hayate for me, okay?” she said quickly, winking, before dropping the leather lead into his hand and darting up the steps, ducking from various groups until she met the petite woman at the top, almost tackling her with a firm embrace. The two parted, mouths moving at the speed of light as Hana tugged the Captain back towards the main hall of the Ahmanhe, only looking back to wave at Roy quickly before they disappeared into the building. Some things never change, Roy thought as Hayate pulled on his lead, keen to follow his owner.

“C’mon,” he said to the two dogs. “Let’s go find somebody who’ll pay attention to you two.” He began making his way through the growing crowd, occasionally stopping to talk with both citizens and soldiers alike, all in various stages of sobriety – obviously the matured mekhlo barrels had already been broken open, judging by the lack of consideration for rank. Roy would never admit it publicly, but he was beyond pleased that these people felt comfortable enough to talk to him as equals, rather than as a superior officer, or a member of the military. It was a testament to his hard work – as well of that of his team – that their ranks and histories were falling to the wayside in favour of treating their fellow countrymen as equals.

Of course, this was only true in Ishval. As soon as you left Aledia all of that was stripped away – the respect earned; the trust gained; the progress that had been made so far. It was easy to forget the rhetoric that was brewing right outside their door when it was not allowed to survive here.

Nonetheless, he could not afford to rest on his laurels now. While now they were able to celebrate more often for the successes of his outline for Ishval, the biggest hurdle facing the district was still the military – a military that was slowly, but surely shifting towards a more democratic method of operating. Sometimes Roy thought he had gotten the easy job out of all of this mess following the Promised Day – working in Ishval – compared to the likes of Führer Grumman, who had to negotiate the often treacherous waters that were national and international politics whilst simultaneously proving that Amestris would not back down in the event of a foreign invasion. The updates he received from his mother were growing increasingly dire, with far-right groups gaining traction in response to the apparently sudden democratisation of the country.

You’d think that people would want to have a say in how their country is run, he thought grimly, guiding the dogs towards the makeshift bars that skirted the edge of the town square. Or maybe there are those who think only the elite should have that right. Roy was hesitant to say openly that there was a racist rhetoric growing in Amestris – but both he and Riza could see the signs a mile off, even with Chris trying to hide the worst of it in her information packets that she sent weekly. Führer Grumman would quickly skip over any discussion of the current political climate when he called Roy to see how progress was going – sometimes a little too quickly, in Roy’s opinion. There was a shift coming – a shift that perhaps the Führer did not want to address.

It didn’t matter whether he did or not. It would still happen regardless, and the country, as well as its people, would suffer for it.

Despite all of this, Ishval was still growing rapidly by the season, and while they were constructing districts as efficiently as they could, there was a limit to how hard they could push their workers without having to cut corners or push their men too far – and yet, more Ishvallan’s kept pouring in, month after month after month. Aledia was quickly becoming a haven for all sorts of people – recently a small group of chimera hybrids had asked for sanctuary, apparently having exhausted all other points of contact before they arrived.

Roy had been horrified to realise just how far the human experimentation had gone under King Bradley’s reign – and still, more and more kept crawling out of the woodwork, offering what little skills they could towards the rebuilding effort.

It was not right that the military could keep ignoring the crimes they had committed – though it certainly didn’t help that practically all the records had been ‘conveniently’ burned or misplaced or lost – nor that without a steady paper trail it would border on nigh impossible to track down the scientists who had been employed to perform such work. There was also a very large possibility that they were dead already, and with them, any semblance of justice for those they had wronged.

Eliza whined nosily as they worked their way through the crowd that was steadily thinning, pulling on her leash impatiently.

“Alright, alright,” Roy groused, picking up his pace a little as she all but dragged him towards some unseen but very important and must be investigated patch of dirt, Hayate patiently following her, his tongue lolling out. “I don’t know where you got your attitude from, but I’ll be sticking you in the bathroom tonight if you keep this up.”

Janhe – a traditional shawl for Ishvallan women, which covers the shoulders and upper arms. Comes in a variety of fabrics and patterns, typically made of cotton.

Ahmanhe – place of worship for Ishvalla.

Lāeshembha – fishing festival that occurs at the end of the drought season.

Ishvakale - informal way of greeting people, close friends and family.

Mekhlo – a type of fermented alcohol, made with the bark of the nekhlo tree, spices and the aloe vera plant. Prepared in the height of summer, it is both delicious before and after fermentation.

#fma fanfiction #royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #fullmetal alchemist #my fanfic #it's been a while #hello!!!!!!!!#i am back with more #plot coming eventually #aka soon

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stevehendry · 4 years

Text

Effective ways and winning strategies to grow an online business

The Internet has revolutionized the way many companies do business these days. It has opened new online business opportunities for many striving entrepreneurs. Also, people who once greatly preferred to visit the shop straight to buy their desired services and products now wish to get everything from the comfort of their homes.

Therefore, in this digital era, starting an online business will be definitely a smart move for many budding and aspiring entrepreneurs as they can reap profit within a short span of time. And also, nowadays, with the advancements in technology, online businesses are able to reach and connect with the global market. For the proprietors who still have doubt if taking the business online would be a good idea, here are some astounding benefits that can be obtained by plunging into the online industry.

By running your business online, you can promote your services and products rapidly and effectively when compared to traditional marketing approaches. With a robust online presence, you can get global traction in your business and can build a positive image for your brand. You can also minimize the overhead costs which will eventually allow you to make a huge profit easily. So, as an entrepreneur, you must understand that if your business is not online, you will be unable to take the advantage of a valuable resource to build your company beyond your dreams.

But, some business owners have a wrong thought that once they start an online business or when they just move their business online, people across the globe will automatically find their online businesses and make use of their online platforms whenever they are in need. But, this is not true. The fact is that it is not easy to get tremendous growth in the online business unless some key tactics and several enhancement methodologies are followed.

Therefore, each and every ambitious entrepreneur must be aware of some significant concepts to get ahead in their online business ventures. If you are one of those business owners trying hard to launch your own lucrative online business, then read this blog.

In this blog, we are going to see the online business growth in 2020 and how this growth will be in the future, effective ways to build your online business in the current market trend, and some future technologies that are going to revamp the online businesses.

Online business growth in 2020

The online industry is growing at a steady pace and its growth is even more accelerated due to the current COVID-19 pandemic situation. This is mainly because most of the people across the globe embrace online shopping and spend more time online for various activities such as for entertainment purposes, for educational purposes, for getting connected with their dear ones, for getting guidance on medication, etc due to several precautionary measures during this coronavirus pandemic.

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A recent survey also shows that nearly one-third of the global consumers shop online weekly since COVID-19 hit. Therefore, there is a great chance for the continuation of this trend even in the post-COVID-19 world. So, it is very much clear that even after the quarantine, people will still prefer to do online shopping from the homes.

Similarly, online streaming platforms, video chatting platforms, and all other online businesses with robust digital presence are also thriving in 2020. Also, there is no doubt that the online industry will experience tremendous growth in the future too. So, each and every online business owner is in the position to utilize the current golden opportunity and enhance the online experience of their users across the globe in order to meet their expectations. And, thereby they can grow their online businesses in 2020 and in upcoming years.

As an entrepreneur, you must know some effective concepts and ways to boost the growth of the online business in this digital era. Let us see those now.

Strategies to improve your online business growth

Business owners must understand that without establishing a powerful online presence, their online businesses will fail to get loyal customers and will lose out on sales. So, take a look at this section to know about the important strategies to enhance online presence and to elevate your online business

Establish a powerful online platform

Your online platform is the first thing that people will utilize to know about your online business, the products and services you are offering, to engage and contact you, etc. So, building an influential online platform is the foremost factor to take an online business to next level. Therefore, focus on enriching your user experience by having a strong online platform with unrivaled performance, visually appealing user interface, responsive design, modern features, and trendiest technologies.

Have a mobile-friendly online platform

In addition to developing a powerful website, making it mobile-friendly is equally essential to grab the attention of millions of online users. This is because people nowadays mostly prefer to search for products and services online using their mobile phones more than computers, tablets, laptops, etc. So, considering the rapid increase in the usage of mobile devices for searches, proprietors must optimize their websites for mobile.

Protection of consumer data

With the staggering rise in cybercrime and other fraudulent activities, online businesses must prioritize the ultimate protection of their consumer data. So, there is a need for the inclusion of high-security checks in online platforms by the businesses to gain customer confidence. Therefore, as an aspiring online business owner trying hard to build trust among your users and to promote your online business growth, you should beef up online security.

Be flexible and transparent

Customers normally will be more likely to make use of the online platform that provides them more choices for payment, shipping, and customer service. So, entrepreneurs should include these flexible options to capture the user’s attention. Also, an online business with transparency can draw customers easily. So, it is important to always keep your customers informed with your latest developments, any other supply delays, and so on.

Learn from your competitors

To form a good strategy for your online business, you can analyze what your competitors are doing to get ahead and what they are missing and not providing that your customers really want. This research about your competitors will give some useful ideas to face fierce competition in your online business.

Improve communication

One of the most significant aspects of running a profitable online business is an effective communicative channel. This will greatly help in strengthening your connection with your target customer as you can solve their product-related queries and can respond to them instantly. So, always keep in mind that when your customers are able to reach you anytime as they need, you can reinforce the bond with them. In addition to the above-mentioned tips and ideas for growing online business, each and every entrepreneur must also be aware of some trends and modern technologies that are revamping the online businesses. So that they can shine in the online industry. Let us see about those now.

Cutting-edge technologies and innovations that are shaping the online industry

Complete virtual experience

The gesture and voice-driven virtual engagement will be definitely a boon for many online businesses. This is because it can offer a vibrant and rich experience to the users. The information that the users are seeing on a screen in 2D will be visible in the 3D virtual environment. This will provide a near real-life experience to millions of users while using an online platform.

Voice-driven interaction

Voice search is popular these days and will take a massive hit in the future too. The voice input from the users will be used effectively to offer the needed information and to solve their queries quickly. So, with the voice-driven interaction, customers can search for their products and services and can buy the required one within a fraction of a second.

Personalized experience

Personalization plays a key role in offering a smooth customer experience and in engaging the global audience. When you are able to create a unique individual user experience on your online platform depending on the user’s intent and timing, you can surely improve your conversions, response rates, and sales. So, proprietors must focus on building an attention-grabbing website with personalized elements to amaze their target audience.

AI-driven algorithms and smart service

AI is greatly impacting almost all online businesses and these algorithms can analyze the customer’s past purchasing behavior and can thereby personalize their shopping experience. Also, with the AI-driven smart service, chatbots, businesses can automate their customer service and can provide instant response to user queries.

There is no doubt that these technological trends that will help in running a lucrative online business. So, entrepreneurs must keep an eye out or these technological enhancements to get success in their online business ventures.

Final words

From the above sections, I hope you can now understand some vital concepts and ideas to grow the online business. Entrepreneurs must consider these technological advancements and growth tricks to launch a successful online business. But, building a full-fledged online platform with all the above-mentioned features and other inclusions is wholly possible only by getting a comprehensive and felicitous online solution that suits your online business model. This will also help you to arrive at an impressive online platform quickly and within your budget.

You can get such a suitable online solution for your business from Appkodes, a well-known online solution providing company. It has been developing optimal clone solutions for different online business verticals. So, you can get a complete, pre-built online solution with unmatchable performance and exciting inclusions for your online business at Appkodes. So, discuss your online business concepts with the team of experts at Appkodes and make your online business venture successful.

#businesstips #clonescripts #web development

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